s 

University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
ROBERT  B.  HONEYMAN,  JR. 


THE 


LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP, 


AND 


OTHER  SKETCHES. 


BY 


FKANCIS    BEET    HAKTE. 


BOSTON: 
FIELDS,   OSGOOD,   &    CO. 

1870. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

FIELDS,     OSGOOD,     &     CO., 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


PREFACE. 


A  SERIES  of  designs  —  suggested,  I  think,  by 
Hogarth's  familiar  cartoons  of  the  Industrious 
and  Idle  Apprentices  —  I  remember  as  among  the 
earliest  efforts  at  moral  teaching  in  California.  They 
represented  the  respective  careers  of  The  Honest  and 
Dissolute  Miners  :  the  one,  as  I  recall  him,  retrograd- 
ing through  successive  planes  of  dirt,  drunkenness, 
disease,  and  death  •  the  other  advancing  by  corre- 
sponding stages  to  affluence  and  a  white  shirt.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  artistic  defects  of  these 
drawings,  the  moral  at  least  was  obvious  and  distinct. 
That  it  failed,  however,  —  as  it  did,  —  to  produce  the 
desired  reform  in  mining  morality  may  have  been 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  average  miner  refused  to 
recognize  himself  in  either  of  these  positive  char- 
acters ;  and  that  even  he  who  might  have  sat 
for  the  model  of  the  Dissolute  Miner  was  perhaps 
dimly  conscious  of  some  limitations  and  circumstances 
which  partly  relieved  him  from  responsibility.  "  Yer 
see,"  remarked  such  a  critic  to  the  writer,  in  the  un- 
translatable poetry  of  his  class,  "it  ain't  no  square 
game.  They  've  just  put  up  the  keerds  on  that  chap 
from  the  start." 


iv  PREFACE. 

With  this  lamentable  example  before  me,  I  trust 
that  in  the  following  sketches  I  have  abstained  from 
any  positive  moral.  I  might  have  painted  my  villains 
of  the  blackest  dye,  —  so  black,  indeed,  that  the  origi- 
nals thereof  would  have  contemplated  them  with  the 
glow  of  comparative  virtue.  I  might  have  made  it 
impossible  for  them  to  have  performed  a  virtuous  or 
generous  action,  and  have  thus  avoided  that  moral 
confusion  which  is  apt  to  arise  in  the  contemplation 
of  mixed  motives  and  qualities.  But  I  should  have 
burdened  myself  with  the  responsibility  of  their 
creation,  which,  as  a  humble  writer  of  romance  and 
entitled  to  no  particular  reverence,  I  did  not  care 
to  do. 

I  fear  I  cannot  claim,  therefore,  any  higher  motive 
than  to  illustrate  an  era  of  which  Californian  history 
has  preserved  the  incidents  more  often  than  the  char- 
acter of  the  actors,  —  an  era  which  the  panegyrist  was 
too  often  content  to  bridge  over  with  a  general  com- 
pliment to  its  survivors,  —  an  era  still  so  recent  that  in 
attempting  to  revive  its  poetry,  I  am  conscious  also 
of  awakening  the  more  prosaic  recollections  of  these 
same  survivors,  —  and  yet  an  era  replete  with  a  certain 
heroic  Greek  poetry,  of  which  perhaps  none  were  more 
unconscious  than  the  heroes  themselves.  And  I  shall 
be  quite  content  to  have  collected  here  merely  the 
materials  for  the  Iliad  that  is  yet  to  be  sung. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  December  24, 1869. 


CONTENTS. 


SKETCHES. 

PAGE 

THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP 1 

THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT      ....  19 

MIGGLES 37 

TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 56 

THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH 72 

HIGH- WATER  MARK 89 

A  LONELY  RIDE .        .  103 

THE  MAN  OF  No  ACCOUNT     .        .    *    .        .        .  113 

STORIES. 

MLISS 123 

THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER      .        .        .  166 

NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD 180 

BOHEMIAN    PAPERS. 

MISSION  DOLORES 219 

JOHN  CHINAMAN 224 

FROM  A  BACK  WINDOW       .        .        .         .        .         .  230 

BOONDER                                            .  235 


SKETCHES. 


THE  LUCK  OF    ROAKINa  CAMP. 

THEEE  was  commotion  in  Bearing  Camp.  It 
could  not  have  been  a  fight,  for  in  1850  that 
was  not  novel  enough  to  have  called  together  the 
entire  settlement.  The  ditches  and  claims  were 
not  only  deserted,  but  "  Tuttle's  grocery  "  had  con- 
tributed its  gamblers,  who,  it  will  be  remembered, 
calmly  continued  their  game  the  day  that  French 
Pete  and  Kanaka  Joe  shot  each  other  to  death  over 
the  bar  in  the  front  room.  The  whole  camp  was 
collected  before  a  rude  cabin  on  the  outer  edge  of 
the  clearing.  Conversation  was  carried  on  in  a  low 
tone,  but  the  name  of  a  woman  was  frequently 
repeated.  It  was  a  name  familiar  enough  in  the 
camp,  —  "  Cherokee  Sal." 

Perhaps  the  less  said  of  her  the  better.  She 
was  a  coarse,  and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  a  very  sinful 
woman.  But  at  that  time  she  was  the  only  wo- 
man in  Eoaring  Camp,  and  was  just  then  lying  in 
sore  extremity,  when  she  most  needed  the  minis- 
tration of  her  own  sex.  Dissolute,  abandoned, 
and  irreclaimable,  she  was  yet  suffering  a  martyr- 
dom hard  enough  to  bear  even  when  veiled  by 
i  A 


2  THE   LUCK   OF  ROARING   CAMP. 

sympathizing  womanhood,  but  now  terrible  in 
her  loneliness.  The  primal  curse  had  come  to 
her  in  that  original  isolation  which  must  have 
made  the  punishment  of  the  first  transgression 
so  dreadful.  It  was,  perhaps,  part  of  the  expia- 
tion of  her  sin,  that,  at  a  moment  when  she  most 
lacked  her  sex's  intuitive  tenderness  and  care,  she 
met  only  the  half-contemptuous  faces  of  her  mas- 
culine associates.  Yet  a  few  of  the  spectators 
were,  I  think,  touched  by  her  sufferings.  Sandy 
Tipton  thought  it  was  "  rough  on  Sal,"  and,  in  the 
contemplation  of  her  condition,  for  a  moment  rose 
superior  to  the  fact  that  he  had  an  ace  and  two 
bowers  in  his  sleeve. 

It  will  be  seen,  also,  that  the  situation  was  novel. 
Deaths  were  by  no  means  uncommon  in  Roaring 
Camp,  but  a  birth  was  a  new  thing.  People  had 
been  dismissed  the  camp  effectively,  finally,  and 
with  no  possibility  of  return  ;  but  this  was  the  first 
time  that  anybody  had  been  introduced  db  initio. 
Hence  the  excitement. 

"  You  go  in  there,  Stumpy,"  said  a  prominent 
citizen  known  as  "  Kentuck,"  addressing  one  of 
the  loungers.  "  Go  in  there,  and  see  what  you  kin 
do.  You  've  had  experience  in  them  things." 

Perhaps  there  was  a  fitness  in  the  selection. 
Stumpy,  in  other  climes,  had  been  the  putative 
head  of  two  families  ;  in  fact,  it  was  owing  to  some 
legal  informality  in  these  proceedings  that  Eoaring 


THE  LUCK  OF  EOARING  CAMP.         3 

Camp  —  a  city '  of  refuge  —  was  indebted  to  his 
company.  The  crowd  approved  the  choice,  and 
Stumpy  was  wise  enough  to  bow  to  the  majority. 
The  door  closed  on  the  extempore  surgeon  and 
midwife,  and  Eoaring  Camp  sat  down  outside, 
smoked  its  pipe,  and  awaited  the  issue. 

The  assemblage  numbered  about  a  hundred  men. 
One  or  two  of  these  were  actual  fugitives  from 
justice,  some  were  criminal,  and  all  were  reckless. 
Physically,  they  exhibited  no  indication  -of  their 
past  lives  and  character.  The  greatest  scamp  had 
a  Eaphael  face,  with  a  profusion  of  blond  hair ; 
Oakhurst,  a  gambler,  had  the  melancholy  air  and 
intellectual  abstraction  of  a  Hamlet;  the  coolest 
and  most  courageous  man  was  scarcely  over  five 
feet  in  height,  with  a  soft  voice  and  an  embarrassed, 
timid  manner.  The  term  "roughs"  applied  to 
them  was  a  distinction  rather  than  a  definition. 
Terhaps  in  the  minor  details  of  fingers,  toes,  ears, 
etc.,  the  camp  may  have  been  deficient,  but  these 
slight  omissions  did  not  detract  from  their  ag- 
gregate force.  The  strongest  man  had  but  three 
fingers  on  his  right  hand ;  the  best  shot  had  but 
one  eye. 

Such  was  the  physical  aspect  of  the  men  that 
were  dispersed  around  the  cabin.  The  camp  lay 
in  a  triangular  valley,  between  two  hills  and  a 
river.  The  only  outlet  was  a  steep  trail  over  the 
summit  of  a  hill  that  faced  the  cabin,  now  illumi- 


4         THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

nated  by  the  rising  moon.  The  suffering  woman 
might  have  seen  it  from  the  rude  bunk  whereon 
she  lay,  —  seen  it  winding  like  a  silver  thread 
until  it  was  lost  in  the  stars  above. 

A  fire  of  withered  pine-boughs  added  sociability 
to  the  gathering.  By  degrees  the  natural  levity 
of  Eoaring  Camp  returned.  Bets  were  freely  offered 
and  taken  regarding  the  result.  Three  to  five  that 
"  Sal  would  get  through  with  it  "  ;  even,  that  the 
child  would  survive  ;  side  bets  as  to-  the  sex  and 
complexion  of  the  coming  stranger.  In  the  midst 
of  an  excited  discussion  an  exclamation  came 
from  those  nearest  the  door,  and  the  camp  stopped 
to  listen.  Above  the  swaying  and  moaning  of  the 
pines,  the  swift  rush  of  the  river,  and  the  crack- 
ling of  the  fire,  rose  a  sharp,  querulous  cry,  —  a  cry 
unlike  anything  heard  before  in  the  camp.  The 
pines  stopped  moaning,  the  river  ceased  to  rush, 
and  the  fire  to  crackle.  It  seemed  as  if  Nature 
had  stopped  to  listen  too. 

The  camp  rose  to  its  feet  as  one  man  !  It  was 
proposed  to  explode  a  barrel  of  gunpowder,  but,  in 
consideration  of  the  situation  of  the  mother,  bet- 
ter counsels  prevailed,  and  only  a  few  revolvers 
were  discharged ;  for,  whether  owing  to  the  rude 
surgery  of  the  camp,  or  some  other  reason,  Chero- 
kee Sal  was  sinking  fast.  Within  an  hour  she  had 
climbed,  as  it  were,  that  rugged  road  that  led  to 
the  stars,  and  so  passed  out  of  Eoaring  Camp,  its 


THE  LUCK   OF   ROARING   CAMP.  5 

sin  and  shame  forever.  I  do  not  think  that  the  an- 
nouncement disturbed  them  much,  except  in  spec- 
ulation as  to  the  fate  of  the  child.  "  Can  he  live 
now  ? "  was  asked  of  Stumpy.  The  answer  was 
doubtful.  The  only  other  being  of  Cherokee  Sal's 
sex  and  maternal  condition  in  the  settlement  was 
an  ass.  There  was  some  conjecture  as  to  fitness, 
but  the  experiment  was  tried.  It  was  less  prob- 
lematical than  the  ancient  treatment  of  Eomulus 
and  Remus,  and  apparently  as  successful. 

When  these  details  were  completed,  which  ex- 
hausted another  hour,  the  door  was  opened,  and  the 
anxious  crowd  of  men  who  had  already  formed 
themselves  into  a  q^sue,  entered  in  single  file. 
Beside  the  low  bunk  or  shelf,  on  which  the  figure 
of  the  mother  was  starkly  outlined  below  the 
blankets  stood  a  pine  table.  On  this  a  candle-box 
was  placed,  and  within  it,  swathed  in  staring  red 
flannel,  lay  the  last  arrival  at  Roaring  Camp.  Be- 
side the  candle-box  was  placed  a  hat.  Its  use  was 
soon  indicated.  "  Gentlemen,"  said  Stumpy,  with 
a  singular  mixture  of  authority  and  ex  qfficio  com- 
placency, —  "  Gentlemen  will  please  pass  in  at  the 
front  door,  round  the  table,  and  out  at  the  back 
door.  Them  as  wishes  to  contribute  anything  to- 
ward the  orphan  will  find  a  hat  handy."  The  first 
man  entered  with  his  hat  on ;  he  uncovered,  how- 
ever, as  he  looked  about  him,  and  so,  unconscious- 
ly, set  an  example  to  the  next.  In  such  comma- 


6  THE  LUCK   OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

nities  good  and  bad  actions  are  catching.  As  the 
procession  filed  in,  comments  were  audible,  —  crit- 
icisms addressed,  perhaps,  rather  to  Stumpy,  in 
the  character  of  showman,  — "  Is  that  him  ? " 
"  mighty  small  specimen  "  ;  "  has  n't  mor'n  got  the 
color  "  ;  "  ain't  bigger  nor  a  derringer."  The  con- 
tributions were  as  characteristic  :  A  silver  tobacco- 
box  ;  a  doubloon  ;  a  navy  revolver,  silver  mounted  ; 
a  gold  specimen ;  a  very  beautifully  embroidered 
lady's  handkerchief  (from  Oakhurst  the  gambler)  ; 
a  diamond  breastpin ;  a  diamond  ring  (suggested 
by  the  pin,  with  the  remark  from  the  giver  that  he 
"  saw  that  pin  and  went  two  diamonds  better  ") ; 
a  slung  shot ;  a  Bible  (contributor  not  detected) ; 
a  golden  spur  ;  a  silver  teaspoon  (the  initials,  I  re- 
gret to  say,  were  not  the  giver's) ;  a  pair  of  sur- 
geon's shears ;  a  lancet ;  a  Bank  of  England  note 
for  £  5  ;  and  about  $  200  in  loose  gold  and  silver 
coin.  During  these  proceedings  Stumpy  maintained 
a  silence  as  impassive  as  the  dead  on  his  left,  a 
gravity  as  inscrutable  as  that  of  the  newly  born  on 
his  right.  Only  one  incident  occurred  to  break 
the  monotony  of  the  curious  procession.  As  Ken- 
tuck  bent  over  the  candle-box  half  curiously,  the 
child  turned,  and,  in  a  spasm  of  pain,  caught  at 
his  groping  finger,  and  held  it  fast  for  a  moment. 
Kentuck  looked  foolish  and  embarrassed.  Some- 
thing like  a  blush  tried  to  assert  itself  in  his 
weather-beaten  cheek.  "  The  d — d  little  cuss  ! " 


THE  LUCK   OF  KOARING   CAMP.  7 

he  said,  as  he  extricated  his  finger,  with,  perhaps, 
more  tenderness  and  care  than  he  might  have  been 
deemed  capable  of  showing.  He  held  that  finger 
a  little  apart  from  its  fellows  as  he  went  out,  and 
examined  it  curiously.  The  examination  provoked 
the  same  original  remark  in  regard  to  the  child. 
In  fact,  he  seemed  to  enjoy  repeating  it.  "  He 
rastled  with  my  finger,"  he  remarked  to  Tipton, 
holding  up  the  member,  "  the  d — d  little  cuss  ! " 

It  was  four  o'clock  before  the  camp  sought  re- 
pose. A  light  burnt  in  the  cabin  where  the 
watchers  sat,  for  Stumpy  did  not  go  to  bed  that 
night.  Nor  did  Kentuck.  He  drank  quite  freely, 
and  related  with  great  gusto  his  experience,  inva- 
riably ending  with  his  characteristic  condemnation 
of  the  new-comer.  It  seemed  to  relieve  him  of 
any  unjust  implication  of  sentiment,  and  Kentuck 
had  the  weaknesses  of  the  nobler  sex.  When 
everybody  else  had  gone  to  bed,  he  walked  down 
to  the  river,  and  whistled  reflectingly.  Then  he 
walked  up  the  gulch,  past  the  cabin,  still  whistling 
with  demonstrative  unconcern.  At  a  large  red- 
wood tree  he  paused  and  retraced  his  steps,  and 
again  passed  the  cabin.  Half-way  down  to  the 
river's  bank  he  again  paused,  and  then  returned 
and  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  by 
Stumpy.  "  How  goes  it  ?  "  said  Kentuck,  looking 
past  Stumpy  toward  the  candle-box.  "  All  serene," 
replied  Stumpy.  "  Anything  up  ?  "  "  Nothing." 


8         THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

There  was  a  pause  —  an  embarrassing  one  — 
Stumpy  still  holding  the  door.  Then  Kentuck 
had  recourse  to  his  finger,  which  he  held  up  to 
Stumpy.  "  Eastled  with  it,  —  the  d — d  little  cuss/' 
he  said,  and  retired. 

The  next  day  Cherokee  Sal  had  such  rude  se- 
pulture as  Koaring  Camp  afforded.  After  her 
body  had  been  committed  to  the  hillside,  there 
was  a  formal  meeting  of  the  camp  to  discuss  what 
should  be  done  with  her  infant.  A  resolution  to 
adopt  it  was  unanimous  and  enthusiastic.  But  an 
animated  discussion  in  regard  to  the  manner  and 
feasibility  of  providing  for  its  wants  at  once  sprung 
up.  It  was  remarkable  that  the  argument  partook 
of  none  of  those  fierce  personalities  with  which 
discussions  were  usually  conducted  at  Eoaring 
Camp.  Tipton  proposed  that  they  should  send  the 
child  to  Red  Dog,  —  a  distance  of  forty  miles,  — 
where  female  attention  could  be  procured.  But 
the  unlucky  suggestion  met  with  fierce  and  unan- 
imous opposition.  It  was  evident  that  no  plan 
which  entailed  parting  from  their  new  acquisition 
would  for  a  moment  be  entertained.  "  Besides," 
said  Tom  Ryder,  "  them  fellows  at  Red  Dog  would 
swap  it,  and  ring  in  somebody  else  on  us."  A  dis- 
belief in  the  honesty  of  other  camps  prevailed  at 
Roaring  Camp  as  in  other  places. 

The  introduction  of  a  female  nurse  in  the  camp 
also  met  with  objection.  It  was  argued  that  no 


THE  LUCK  OF  SOARING  CAMP.         9 

decent  woman  could  be  prevailed  to  accept  Koar- 
ing  Camp  as  her  home,  and  the  speaker  urged 
that  "  they  did  n't  want  any  more  of  the  other 
kind."  This  unkind  allusion  to  the  defunct  moth- 
er, harsh  as  it  may  seem,  was  the  first  spasm  of 
propriety,  —  the  first  symptom  of  the  camp's  re- 
generation. Stumpy  advanced  nothing.  Perhaps 
he  felt  a  certain  delicacy  in  interfering  with  the 
selection  of  a  possible  successor  in  office.  But 
when  questioned,  he  averred  stoutly  that  he  and 
"  Jinny  "  —  the  mammal  before  alluded  to  —  could 
manage  to  rear  the  child.  There  was  something 
original,  independent,- and  heroic  about  the  plan 
that  pleased  the  camp.  Stumpy  was  retained. 
Certain  articles  were  sent  for  to  Sacramento. 
"Mind,"  said  the  treasurer,  as  he  pressed  a  bag  of 
gold-dust  into  the  expressman's  hand,  "  the  best 
that  can  be  got,  —  lace,  you  know,  and  filigree-work 
and  frills,  —  d — m  the  cost'!" 

Strange  to  say,  the  child  thrived.  Perhaps  the 
invigorating  climate  of  the  mountain  camp  was 
compensation  for  material  deficiencies.  Nature 
took  the  foundling  to  her  broader  breast.  In  that 
rare  atmosphere  of  the  Sierra  foot-hills,  —  that  air 
pungent  with  balsamic  odor,  that  ethereal  cordial 
at  once  bracing  and  exhilarating,  —  he  may  have 
found  food  and  nourishment,  or  a  subtle  chemistry 
that  transmuted  asses'  milk  to  lime  and  phospho- 
rus. Stumpy  inclined  to  the  belief  that  it  was  the 
i* 


10        THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

latter  and  good  nursing.  "  Me  and  that  ass,"  he 
would  say,  "  has  been  father  and  mother  to  him  ! 
Don't  you,"  he  would  add,  apostrophizing  the  help- 
less bundle  before  him,  "  never  go  back  on  us." 

By  the  time  he  was  a  month  old,  the  necessity 
of  giving  him  a  name  became  apparent.  He  had 
generally  been  known  as  "  the  Kid,"  "  Stumpy's 
boy,"  "the  Cayote"  (an  allusion  to  his  vocal 
powers),  and  even  by  Kentuck's  endearing  di- 
minutive of  "the  d — d  little  cuss."  But  these 
were  felt  to  be  vague  and  unsatisfactory,  and  were 
at  last  dismissed  under  another  influence.  Gam- 
blers and  adventurers  are  generally  superstitious, 
and  Oakhurst  one  day  declared  that  the  baby  had 
brought  "the  luck"  to  Eoaring  Camp.  It  was 
certain  that  of  late  they  had  been  successful. 
"  Luck  "  was  the  name  agreed  upon,  with  the  pre- 
fix of  Tommy  for  greater  convenience.  ~No  allu- 
sion was  made  to  the  mother,  and  the  father  was 
unknown.  "It's  better,"  said  the  philosophical 
Oakhurst,  "  to  take  a  fresh  deal  all  round.  Call 
him  Luck,  and  start  him  fair."  A  day  was  accord- 
ingly set  apart  for  the  christening.  'What  was 
meant  by  this  ceremony  the  reader  may  imagine, 
who  has  already  gathered  some  idea  of  the  reck- 
less irreverence  of  Roaring  Camp.  The  master  of 
ceremonies  was  one  "Boston,"  a  noted  wag,  and 
the  occasion  seemed  to  promise  the  greatest  face- 
tiousness.  This  ingenious  satirist  had  spent  two 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP.        11 

days  in  preparing  a  burlesque  of  the  church  ser- 
vice, with  pointed  local  allusions.  The  choir  was 
properly  trained,  and  Sandy  Tipton  was  to  stand 
godfather.  But  after  the  procession  had  marched 
to  the  grove  with  music  and  banners,  and  the  child 
had  been  deposited  before  a  mock  altar,  Stumpy 
stepped  before  the  expectant  crowd.  "  It  ain't  my 
style  to  spoil  fun,  boys,"  said  the  little  man,  stout- 
ly, eying  the  faces  around  him,  "  but  it  strikes  me 
that  this  thing  ain't  exactly  on  the  squar.  It 's 
playing  it  pretty  low  down  on  this  yer  baby  to  ring 
in  fun  on  him  that  he  ain't  going  to  understand. 
And  ef  there  's  going  to  be  any  godfathers  round, 
I  'd  like  to  see  who  's  got  any  better  rights  than 
me."  A  silence  followed  Stumpy's  speech.  To 
the  credit  of  all  humorists  be  it  said,  that  the  first 
man  to  acknowledge  its  justice  was  the  satirist, 
thus  stopped  of  his  fun.  "  But,"  said  Stumpy, 
quickly,  following  up  his  advantage,  "  we  're  here 
for  a  christening,  and  we  '11  have  it.  I  proclaim 
you  Thomas  Luck,  according  to  the  laws  of  the 
United  States  and  the  State  of  California,  so  help 
me  God."  It  was  the  first  time  that  the  name  of 
the  Deity  had  been  uttered  otherwise  than  pro- 
fanely in  the  camp.  The  form  of  christening  was 
perhaps  even  more  ludicrous  than  the  satirist  had 
conceived;  but,  strangely  enough,  nobody  saw  it 
and  nobody  laughed.  "  Tommy  "  was  christened 
as  seriously  as  he  would  have  been  under  a  Chris- 


12        THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

tian  roof,  and  cried  and  was  comforted  in  as  ortho- 
dox fashion. 

And  so  the  work  of  regeneration  began  in  Boar- 
ing  Camp.  Almost  imperceptibly  a  change  came 
over  the  settlement.  The  cabin  assigned  to  "  Tom- 
my Luck "  —  or  "  The  Luck,"  as  he  was  more 
frequently  called  —  first  showed  signs  of  improve- 
ment. It  was  kept  scrupulously  clean  and  white- 
washed. Then  it  was  boarded,  clothed,  and  papered. 
The  rosewood  cradle  —  packed  eighty  miles  by 
mule  —  had,  in  Stumpy's  way  of  putting  it,  "  sorter 
killed  the  rest  of  the  furniture."  So  the  rehabili- 
tation of  the  cabin  became  a  necessity.  The  men 
who  were  in  the  habit  of  lounging  in  at  Stumpy's 
to  see  "  how  The  Luck  got  on "  seemed  to  appre- 
ciate the  change,  and,  in  self-defence,  the  rival  es- 
tablishment of  "  Tuttle's  grocery  "  bestirred  itself, 
and  imported  a  carpet  and  mirrors.  The  reflections 
of  the  latter  on  the  appearance  of  Eoaring  Camp 
tended  to  produce  stricter  habits  of  personal  clean- 
liness. Again,  Stumpy  imposed  a  kind  of  quaran- 
tine upon  those  who  aspired  to  the  honor  and 
privilege  of  holding  "  The  Luck."  It  was  a  cruel 
mortification  to  Kentuck —  who,  in  the  careless- 
ness of  a  large  nature  and  the  habits  of  frontier 
life,  had  begun  to  regard  all  garments  as  a  second 
cuticle,  which,  like  a  snake's,  only  sloughed  off 
through  decay  —  to  be  debarred  this  privilege 
from  certain  prudential  reasons.  Yet  such  was  the 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP.        13 

subtle  influence  of  innovation  that  he  thereafter 
appeared  regularly  every  afternoon  in  a  clean  shirt, 
and  face  still  shining  from  his  ablutions.  Nor 
were  moral  and  social  sanitary  laws  neglected. 
"  Tommy/'  who  was  supposed  to  spend  his  whole 
existence  in  a  persistent  attempt  to  repose,  must 
not  be  disturbed  by  noise.  The  shouting  and  yell- 
ing which  had  gained  the  camp  its  infelicitous 
title  were  not  permitted  within  hearing  distance 
of  Stumpy's.  The  men  conversed  in  whispers,  or 
smoked  with  Indian  gravity.  Profanity  was  tacitly 
given  up  in  these  sacred  precincts,  and  throughout 
the  camp  a  popular  form  of  expletive,  known  as 
"  D— n  the  luck  ! "  and  "  Curse  the  luck  ! "  was 
abandoned,  as  having  a  new  personal  bearing.  Vo- 
cal music  was  not  interdicted,  being  supposed  to 
have  a  soothing,  tranquillizing  quality,  and  one 
song,  sung  by  "  Man-o'-War  Jack,"  an  English 
sailor,  from  her  Majesty's  Australian  colonies, 
was  quite  popular  as  a  lullaby.  It  was  a  lugu- 
brious recital  of  the  exploits  of  "the  Arethusa, 
Seventy-four,"  in  a  muffled  minor,  ending  with  a 
prolonged  dying  fall  at  the  burden  of  each  verse, 
"  On  b-o-o-o-ard  of  the  Arethusa."  It  was  a  fine 
sight  to  see  Jack  holding  The  Luck,  rocking  from 
side  to  side  as  if  with  the  motion  of  a  ship,  and 
crooning  forth  this  naval  ditty.  Either  through 
the  peculiar  rocking  of  Jack  or  the  length  of  his 
song,  —  it  contained  ninety  stanzas,  and  was  con- 


14  THE  LUCK   OF  ROARING   CAMP. 

tinned  with  conscientious  deliberation  to  the  bitter 
.  end,  —  the  lullaby  generally  had  the  desired  effect. 
At  such  times  the  men  would  lie  at  full  length 
under  the  trees,  in  the  soft  summer  twilight,  smok- 
ing their  pipes  and  drinking  in  the  melodious 
utterances.  An  indistinct  idea  that  this  was  pas- 
toral happiness  pervaded  the  camp.  "This  'ere 
kind  o'  think,"  said  the  Cockney  Simmons,  medi- 
tatively reclining  on  his  elbow,  "is  'evingly."  It 
reminded  him  of  Greenwich. 

On  the  long  summer  days  The  Luck  was  usually 
carried  to  the  gulch,  from  whence  the  golden  store 
of  Eoaring  -Camp  was  taken.  There,  on  a  blanket 
spread  over  pine-boughs,  he  would  lie  while  the 
men  were  working  in  the  ditches  below.  Latterly, 
there  was  a  rude  attempt  to  decorate  this  bower 
with  flowers  and  sweet-smelling  shrubs,  and  gen- 
erally some  one  would  bring  him  a  cluster  of  wild 
honeysuckles,  azaleas,  or  the  painted  blossoms  of 
Las  Mariposas.  The  men  had  suddenly  awakened' 
to  the  fact  that  there  were  beauty  and  signify 
cance  in  these  trifles,  which  they  had  so  long  trod- 
den carelessly  beneath  their  feet.  A  flake  of  glit- 
tering mica,  a  fragment  of  variegated  quartz,  ^ 
bright  pebble  from  the  bed  of  the  creek,  became 
beautiful  to  eyes  thus  cleared  and  strengthened; 
and  were  invariably  put  aside  for  "  The  Luck."  It 
was  wonderful  how  many  treasures  the  woods  and 
hillsides  yielded  that "  would  do  for  Tommy."  Sur- 


THE  LUCK  OF  SOARING  CAMP.        15 

rounded  by  playthings  such  as  never  child  out  of 
fairy-land  had  before,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Tommy 
was  content.  He  appeared  to  be  securely  happy- 
albeit  there  was  an  infantine  gravity  about  him- 
a  contemplative  light  in  his  round  gray  eyes- 
that  sometimes  worried  Stumpy.  He  was  always 
tractable  and  quiet,  and  it  is  recorded  that  once, 
having  crept  beyond  his  "  corral,"  —  a  hedge  of 
tessellated  pine-boughs,  which  surrounded  his  bed, 
—  he  dropped  over  the  bank  on  his  head  in  the 
soft  earth,  and  remained  with  his  mottled  legs  in 
the  air  in  that  position  for  at  least  five  minutes 
with  unflinching  gravity.  He  was  extricated  with- 
out a  murmur.  I  hesitate  to  record  the  many 
other  instances  of  his  sagacity,  which  rest,  unfor- 
tunately, upon  the  statements  of  prejudiced  friends. 
Some  of  them  were  not  without  a  tinge  of  super- 
stition. "  I  crep'  up  the  bank  just  now,"  said  Ken- 
tuck  one  day,  in  a  breathless  state  of  excitement, 
"  and  dern  my  skin  if  he  was  n't  a  talking  to  a  jay- 
bird as  was  a  sittin'  on  his  lap.  There  they  was, 
just  as  free  and  sociable  as  anything  you  please, 
a  jawin'  at  each  other  just  like  two  cherry-bums." 
Howbeit,  whether  creeping  over  the  pine-boughs 
or  lying  lazily  on  his  back  blinking  at  the  leaves 
above  him,  to  him  the  birds  sang,  the  squirrels 
chattered,  and  the  flowers  Bloomed.  Nature  was 
his  nurse  and  playfellow.  For  him  she  would  let 
slip  between  the  leaves  golden  shafts  of  sunlight 


16        THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

that  fell  just  within  his  grasp ;  she  would  send 
wandering  breezes  to  visit  him  with  the  balm  of 
bay  and  resinous  gums ;  to  him  the  tall  red-woods 
nodded  familiarly  and  sleepily,  the  bumble-bees 
buzzed,  and  the  rooks  .cawed  a  slumbrous  accom- 
paniment. 

Such  was  the  golden  summer  of  Eoaring  Camp. 
They  were  "  flush  times,"  —  and  the  Luck  was  with 
them.  The  claims  had  yielded  enormously.  The 
camp  was  jealous  of  its  privileges  ancf  looked  sus- 
piciously on  strangers.  No  encouragement  was 
given  to  immigration,  and,  to  make  their  seclusion 
more  perfect,  the  land  on  either  side  of  the  moun- 
tain wall  that  surrounded  the  camp  they  duly  pre- 
empted. This,  and  a  reputation  for  singular  pro- 
ficiency with  the  revolver,  kept  the  reserve  of 
Eoaring  Camp  inviolate.  The  expressman  —  their 
only  connecting  link  with  the  surrounding  world 
—  sometimes  told  wonderful  stories  of  the  camp. 
He  would  say,  "They  've  a  street  up  there  in 
'  Eoaring/  that  would  lay  over  any  street  in  Eed 
Dog.  They  've  got  vines  and  flowers  round  their 
houses,  and  they  wash  themselves  twice  a  day. 
But  they  're  mighty  rough  on  strangers,  and  they 
worship  an  Ingin  baby." 

With  the  prosperity  of  the  camp  came  a  desire 
for  further  improvement.  It  was  proposed  to  build 
a  hotel  in  the  following  spring,  and  to  invite  one 
or  two  decent  families  to  reside  there  for  the  sake 


THE   LUCK  OF  ROARING   CAMP.  17 

of  "The  Luck/' — who  might  perhaps  profit  by  fe- 
male companionship.  The  sacrifice  that  this  con- 
cession to  the  sex  cost  these  men,  who  were 
fiercely  sceptical  in  regard  to  its  general  virtue 
and  usefulness,  can  only  be  accounted  for  by  their 
affection  for  Tommy.  A  few  still  held  out.  But 
the  resolve  could  not  be  carried  into  effect  for  three 
months,  and  the  minority  meekly  yielded  in  the 
hope  that  something  might  turn  up  to  prevent  it. 
And  it  did. 

The  winter  of  1851  will  long  be  remembered  in 
the  foot-hills.  The  snow  lay  deep  on  the  Sierras, 
and  every  mountain  creek  became  a  river,  and 
every  river  a  lake.  Each  gorge  and  gulch  was 
transformed  into  a  tumultuous  watercourse  that 
descended  the  hillsides,  tearing  down  giant  trees 
and  scattering  its  drift  and  debris  along  the 
plain.  Eed  Dog  had  been  twice  under  water,  and 
Eoaring  Camp  had  been  forewarned.  "  Water  put 
the  gold  into  them  gulches,"  said  Stumpy.  "  It 's 
been  here  -once  and  will  be  here  again ! "  And  that 
night  the  North  Fork  suddenly  leaped  over  its 
banks,  and  swept  up  the  triangular  valley  of  Eoar- 
ing Camp. 

In  the  confusion  of  rushing  water,  crushing  trees, 
and  crackling  timber,  and  the  darkness  which 
seemed  to  flow  with  the  water  and  blot  out  the  fair 
valley,  but  little  could  be  done  to  collect  the  scat- 
tered camp.  When  the  morning  broke,  the  cabin  of 

B 


18  THE  LUCK   OF   ROARING   CAMP. 

Stumpy  nearest  the  river-bank  was  gone.  Higher 
up  the  gulch  they  found  the  body  of  its  unlucky 
owner;  but  the  pride,  the  hope,  the  joy,  the 
Luck,  of  Bearing  Camp  had  disappeared.  They 
were  returning  with  sad  hearts,  when  a  shout  from 
the  bank  recalled  them. 

It  was  a  relief-boat  from  down  the  river.  They 
had  picked  up,  they  said,  a  man  and  an  infant, 
nearly  exhausted,  about  two  miles  below.  Did 
anybody  know  them,  and  did  they  belong  here  ? 

It  needed  but  a  glance  to  show  them  Kentuck 
lying  there,  cruelly  crushed  and  bruised,  but  still 
holding  the  Luck  of  Eoaring  Carnp  in  his  arms. 
As  they  bent  over  the  strangely  assorted  pair,  they 
saw  that  the  child  was  cold  and  pulseless.  "  He 
is  dead,"  said  one.  Kentuck  opened  his  eyes. 
"  Dead  ? "  he  repeated  feebly.  "  Yes,  my  man,  and 
you  are  dying  too."  A  smile  lit  the  eyes  of  the 
expiring  Kentuck.  "  Dying,"  he  repeated,  "  he 's  a 
taking  me  with  him,  —  tell  the  boys  I  Ve  got  the 
Luck  with  me  now  "  ;  and  the  strong  man,  cling- 
ing to  the  frail  babe  as  a  drowning  man  is  said  to 
cling  to  a  straw,  drifted  away  into  the  shadowy 
river  that  flows  forever  to  the  unknown  sea. 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

AS  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  gambler,  stepped  into 
the  main  street  of  Poker  Flat  on  the  morning 
of  the  twenty- third  of  November,  1850,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  change  in  its  moral  atmosphere 
since  the  preceding  night.  Two  or  three  men, 
conversing  earnestly  together,  ceased  as  he 
approached,  and  exchanged  significant  glances. 
There  was  a  Sabbath  lull  in  the  air,  which,  in 
a  settlement  unused  to  Sabbath  influences,  looked 
ominous. 

Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm,  handsome  face  betrayed 
small  concern  in  these  indications.  Whether  he 
was  conscious  of  any  predisposing  cause,  was  an- 
other question.  "  I  reckon  they  're  after  some- 
body," he  reflected ;  "  likely  it 's  me."  He  returned 
to  his  pocket  the  handkerchief  with  which  he  had 
been  whipping  away  the  red  dust  of  Poker  Flat 
from  his  neat  boots,  and  quietly  discharged  his 
mind  of  any  further  conjecture. 

In  point  of  fact,  Poker*  Flat  was  "  after  some- 
body." It  had  lately  suffered  the  loss  of  several 
thousand  dollars,  two  valuable  horses,  and  a  promi- 
nent citizen.  It  was  experiencing  a  spasm  of  vir- 


20  THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER   FLAT. 

tuous  reaction,  quite  as  lawless  and  ungovernable 
as  any  of  the  acts  that  had  provoked  it.  A  secret 
committee  had  determined  to  rid  the  town  of  all 
improper  persons.  This  was  done  permanently  in 
regard  of  two  men  who  were  then  hanging  from 
the  boughs  of  a  sycamore  in  the  gulch,  and  tempo- 
rarily in  the  banishment  of  certain  other  objec- 
tionable characters.  I  regret  to  say  that  some  of 
these  were  ladies.  It  is  but  due  to  the  sex,  how- 
ever, to  state  that  their  impropriety  was  profes- 
sional, and  it  was  only  in  such  easily  established 
standards  of  evil  that  Poker  Flat  ventured  to  sit 
in  judgment. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  right  in  supposing  that  he 
was  included  in  this  category.  A  few  of  the  com- 
mittee had  urged  hanging  him  as  a  possible  exam- 
ple, and  a  sure  method  of  reimbursing  themselves 
from  his  pockets  of  the  sums  he  had  won  from 
them.  "  It 's  agin  justice,"  said  Jim  Wheeler,  "  to 
let  this  yer  young  man  from  Bearing  Camp  —  an 
entire  stranger  —  carry  away  our  money."  But  a 
crude  sentiment  of  equity  residing  in  the  breasts 
of  those  who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  win 
from  Mr.  Oakhurst  overruled  this  narrower  local 
prejudice. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  received  his  sentence  with  phil- 
osophic calmness,  none  the  less  coolly  that  ho 
was  aware  of  the  hesitation  of  his  judges.  He 
was  too  much  of  a  gambler  not  to  accept  Fate. 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.       21 

With  him  life  was  at  best  an  uncertain  game,  and 
he  recognized  the  usual  percentage  in  favor  of  the 
dealer. 

A  body  of  armed  men  accompanied  the  deport- 
ed wickedness  of  Poker  Flat  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  settlement.  Besides  Mr.  Oakhurst,  who  was 
known  to  be  a  coolly  desperate  man,  and  for  whose 
intimidation  the  armed  escort  was  intended,  the 
expatriated  party  consisted  of  a  young  woman  fa- 
miliarly known  as  "  The  Duchess  "  ;  another,  who 
had  bore  the  title  of  "Mother  Shipton";  and 
"  Uncle  Billy,"  a  suspected  sluice-robber  and  con- 
firmed drunkard.  The  cavalcade  provoked  no 
comments  from  the  spectators,  nor  was  any  word 
uttered  by  the  escort.  Only,  when  the  gulch 
which  marked  the  uttermost  limit  of  Poker  Flat 
was  reached,  the  leader  spoke  briefly  and  to  the 
point.  The  exiles  were  forbidden  to  return  at  the 
peril  of  their  lives. 

As  the  escort  disappeared,  their  pent-up  feelings 
found  vent  in  a  few  hysterical  tears  from  the 
Duchess,  some  bad  language  from  Mother  Ship- 
ton,  and  a  Parthian  volley  of  expletives  from 
Uncle  Billy.  The  philosophic  Oakhurst  alone 
remained  silent-.  He  listened  calmly  to  Mother 
Shipton's  desire  to  cut  somebody's  heart  out,  to 
the  repeated  statements  of  the  Duchess  that 
she  would  die  in*  the  road,  and  to  the  alarming 
oaths  that  seemed  to  be  bumped  out  of  Uncle 


22       THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

Billy  as  he  rode  forward.  With  the  easy  good- 
humor  characteristic  of  his  class,  he  insisted  upon 
exchanging  his  own  riding-horse,  "  Five  Spot,"  for 
the  sorry  mule  which  the  Duchess  rode.  But 
even  this  act  did  not  draw  the  party  into  any 
closer  sympathy.  The  young  woman  readjusted 
her  somewhat  draggled  plumes  with  a  feeble,  faded 
coquetry;  Mother  Shipton  eyed  the  possessor  of 
"  Five  Spot "  with  malevolence,  and  Uncle  Billy  in- 
cluded the  whole  party  in  one  sweeping  anathema. 

The  road  to  Sandy  Bar  —  a  camp  that,  not  hav- 
ing as  yet  experienced  the  regenerating  influences 
of  Poker  Flat,  consequently  seemed  to  offer  some 
invitation  to  the  emigrants  —  lay  over  a  steep 
mountain  range.  It  was  distant  a  day's  severe 
travel.  In  that  advanced  season,  the  party  soon 
passed  out  of  the  moist,  temperate  regions  of  the 
foot-hills  into  the  dry,  cold,  bracing  air  of  the 
Sierras.  The  trail  was  narrow  and  difficult.  At 
noon  the  Duchess,  rolling  out  of  her  saddle  upon 
the  ground,  declared  her  intention  of  going  no  far- 
ther, and  the  party  halted. 

The  spot  was  singularly  wild  and  impressive. 
A  wooded  amphitheatre,  surrounded  on  three  sides 
by  precipitous  cliffs  of  naked  granite,  sloped  gen- 
tly toward  the  crest  of  another  precipice  that  over- 
looked the  valley.  It  was,  undoubtedly,  the  most 
suitable  spot  for  a  camp,  had  camping  been  advis- 
able. But  Mr.  Oakhurst  knew  that  scarcely  half 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

the  journey  to  Sandy  Bar  was  accomplished,  and 
the  party  were  not  equipped  or  provisioned  for  de- 
lay. This  fact  he  pointed  out  to  his  companions 
curtly,  with  a  philosophic  commentary  on  the  folly 
of  "  throwing  up  their  hand  before  the  game  was 
played  out."  But  they  were  furnished  with  liquor, 
which  in  this  emergency  stood  them  in  place  of 
food,  fuel,  rest,  and  prescience.  In  spite  of  his 
remonstrances,  it  was  not  long  before  they  were 
more  or  less  under  its  influence.  Uncle  Billy 
passed  rapidly  from  a  bellicose  state  into  one  of 
stupor,  the  Duchess  became  maudlin,  and  Mother 
Shipton  snored.  Mr.  Oakhurst  alone  remained 
erect,  leaning  against  a  rock,  calmly  surveying 
them. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  did  not  drink.  It  interfered  with 
a  profession  which  required  coolness,  impassive- 
ness,  and  presence  of  mind,  and,  in  his  own  lan- 
guage, he  "  could  n't  afford  it."  As  he  gazed  at 
his  recumbent  fellow-exiles,  the  loneliness  begot- 
ten of  his  pariah-trade,  his  habits  of  life,  his  very 
vices,  for  the  first  time  seriously  oppressed  him. 
He  bestirred  himself  in  dusting  his  black  clothes, 
washing  his  hands  and  face,  and  other  acts  charac- 
teristic of  his  studiously  neat  habits,  and  for  a 
moment  forgot  his  annoyance.  The  thought  of 
deserting  his  weaker  and  more  pitiable  companions 
never  perhaps  occurred  to  him.  Yet  he  could  not 
help  feeling  the  want  of  that  excitement  which, 


24       THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

singularly  enough,  was  most  conducive  to  that 
calm  equanimity  for  which  he  was  notorious.  He 
looked  at  the  gloomy  walls  that  rose  a  thousand 
feet  sheer  above  the  circling  pines  around  him ; 
at  the  sky,  ominously  clouded ;  at  the  valley  be- 
low, already  deepening  into  shadow.  And,  doing 
so,  suddenly  he  heard  his  own  name  called. 

A  horseman  slowly  ascended  the  trail.  In  the 
fresh,  open  face  of  the  new-comer  Mr.  Oakhurst 
recognized  Tom  Simson,  otherwise  known  as  "  The 
Innocent "  of  Sandy  Bar.  He  had  met  him  some 
months  before  over  a  "  little  game,"  and  had,  with 
perfect  equanimity,  won  the  entire  fortune  — 
amounting  to  some  forty  dollars  —  of  that  guile- 
less youth.  After  the  game  was  finished,  Mr. 
Oakhurst  drew  the  youthful  speculator  behind  the 
door  and  thus  addressed  him  :  "  Tommy,  you  're  a 
good  little  man,  but  you  can't  gamble  worth  a 
cent.  Don't  try  it  over  again."  He  then  handed 
him  his  money  back,  pushed  him  gently  from  the 
room,  and  so  made  a  devoted  slave  of  Tom  Simson. 

There  was  a  remembrance  of  this  in  his  boyish 
and  enthusiastic  greeting  of  Mr.  Oakhurst.  He 
had  started,  he  said,  to  go  to  Poker  Flat  to  seek  his 
fortune.  "  Alone  ? "  No,  not  exactly  alone ;  in 
fact  (a  giggle),  he  had  run  away  with  Piney 
Woods.  Did  n't  Mr.  Oakhurst  remember  Piney  ? 
She  that  used  to  wait  on  the  table  at  the  Tem- 
perance House  ?  They  had  been  engaged  a  long 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.       25 

time,  but  old  Jake  Woods  had  objected,  and  so 
they  had  run  away,  and  were-  going  to  Poker  Flat  to 
be  married,  and  here  they  were.  And  they  were 
tired  out,  and  how  lucky  it  was  they  had  found  a 
place  to  camp  'and  company.  All  this  the  Inno- 
cent delivered  rapidly,  while  Piney,  a  stout,  comely 
damsel  of  fifteen,  emerged  from  behind  the  pine- 
tree,  where  she  had  been  blushing  unseen,  and 
rode  to  the  side  of  her  lover. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  seldom  troubled  himself  with  sen- 
timent, still  less  with  propriety;  but  he  had  a 
vague  idea  that  the  situation  was  not  fortunate. 
He  retained,  however,  his  presence  of  mind  suffi- 
ciently to  kick  Uncle  Billy,  who  was  about  to  say 
something,  and  Uncle  Billy  was  sober  enough  to 
recognize  in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  kick  a  superior  power 
that  would  not  bear  trifling.  He  then  endeavored 
to  dissuade  Tom  Simson  from  delaying  further, 
but  in  vain.  He  even  pointed  out  the  fact  that 
there  was  no  provision,  nor  means  of  making  a 
camp.  But,  unluckily,  the  Innocent  met  this 
objection  by  assuring  the  party  that  he  was  pro- 
vided with  an  extra  mule  loaded  with  provisions, 
and  by  the  discovery  of  a  rude  attempt  at  a  log- 
house  near  the  trail.  "  Piney  can  stay  with  Mrs. 
Oakhurst,"  said  the  Innocent,  pointing  to  the  Duch- 
ess, "  and  I  can  shift  for  myself." 

Nothing  but  Mr.  Oakhurst's  admonishing  foot 
saved  Uncle  Billy  from  bursting  into  a  roar  of 

2 


26       THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

laughter.  As  it  was,  he  felt  compelled  to  retire 
up  the  canon  until  he  could  recover  his  gravity. 
There  he  confided  the  joke  to  the  tall  pine-trees, 
with  many  slaps  of  his  leg,  contortions  of  his  face, 
and  the  usual  profanity.  But  when  he  returned 
to  the  party,  he  found  them  seated  by  a  fire  —  for 
the  air  had  grown  strangely  chill  and  the  sky 
overcast  —  in  apparently  amicable  conversation. 
Piney  was  actually  talking  in  an  impulsive,  girlish 
fashion  to  the  Duchess,  who  was  listening  with  an 
interest  and  animation  she  had  not  shown  for 
many  days.  The  Innocent  was  holding  forth,  ap- 
parently with  equal  effect,  to  Mr.  Oakhurst  and 
Mother  Shipton,  who  was  actually  relaxing  into 
amiability.  "  Is  this  yer  a  d — d  picnic  ? "  said 
Uncle  Billy,  with  inward  scorn,  as  he  surveyed  the 
sylvan  group,  the  glancing  firelight,  and  the  teth- 
ered animals  in  the  foreground.  Suddenly  an  idea 
mingled  with  the  alcoholic  fumes  that  disturbed 
his  brain.  It  was  apparently  of  a  jocular  nature, 
for  he  felt  impelled  to  slap  his  leg  again  and  cram 
his  fist  into  his  mouth. 

As  the  shadows  crept  slowly  up  the  mountain, 
a  slight  breeze  rocked  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees, 
and  moaned  through  their  long  and  gloomy  aisles. 
The  ruined  cabin,  patched  and  covered  with  pine- 
boughs,  was  set  apart  for  the  ladies.  As  the  lovers 
parted,  they  unaffectedly  exchanged  a  kiss,  so  hon- 
est and  sincere  that  it  might  have  been  heard  above 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.       27 

the  swaying  pines.  The  frail  Duchess  and  the  ma- 
levolent Mother  Shipton  were  probably  too  stunned 
to  remark  upon  this  last  evidence  of  simplicity, 
and  so  turned  without  a  word  to  the  hut.  The 
fire  was  replenished,  the  men  lay  down  before  the 
door,  and  in  a  few  minutes  were  asleep. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  a  light  sleeper.  Toward  morn- 
ing he  awoke  benumbed  and  cold.  As  he  stirred 
the  dying  fire,  the  wind,  which  was  now  blowing 
strongly,  brought  to  his  cheek  that  which  caused 
the  blood  to  leave  it,  —  snow  ! 

He  started  to  his  feet  with  the  intention  of 
awakening  the  sleepers,  for  there  was  no  time  to 
lose.  But  turning  to  where  Uncle  Billy  had  been 
lying,  he  found  him  gone.  A  suspicion  leaped  to 
his  brain  and  a  curse  to  his  lips.  He  ran  to  the 
spot  where  the  mules  had  been  tethered ;  they 
were  no  longer  there.  The  tracks  were  already 
rapidly  disappearing  in  the  snow. 

The  momentary  excitement  brought  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst  back  to  the  fire  with  his  usual  calm.  He 
did  not  waken  the  sleepers.  The  Innocent  slum- 
bered peacefully,  with  a  smile  on  his  good-humored, 
freckled  face ;  the  virgin  Piney  slept  beside  her 
frailer  sisters  as  sweetly  as  though  attended  by 
celestial  guardians,  and  Mr.  Oakhurst,  drawing  his 
blanket  over  his  shoulders,  stroked  his  mustaches 
and  waited  for  the  dawn.  It  came  slowly  in  a 
whirling  mist  of  snow-flakes,  that  dazzled  and  con- 


28       THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

fused  the  eye.  What  could  be  seen  of  the  land- 
scape appeared  magically  changed.  He  looked  over 
the  valley,  and  summed  up  the  present  and  future 
in  two  words,  —  "  snowed  in  ! " 

A  careful  inventory  of  the  .provisions,  which, 
fortunately  for  the  party,  had  been  stored  within 
the  hut,  and  so  escaped  the  felonious  fingers  of 
Uncle  Billy,  disclosed  the  fact  that  with  care  and 
prudence  they  might  last  ten  days  longer.  "  That 
is,"  said  Mr.  Oakhurst,  sotto  voce  to  the  Innocent, 
"  if  you  're  willing  to  board  us.  If  you  ain't  —  and 
perhaps  you  'd  better  not  —  you  can  wait  till  Uncle 
Billy  gets  back  with  provisions."  For  some  occult 
reason,  Mr.  Oakhurst  could  not  bring  himself  to 
disclose  Uncle  Billy's  rascality,  and  so  offered  the 
hypothesis  that  he  had  wandered  from  the  camp 
and  had  accidentally  stampeded  the  animals.  He 
dropped  a  warning  to  the  Duchess  and  Mother 
Shipton,  who  of  course  knew  the  facts  of  their 
associate's  defection.  "  They  '11  find  out  the  truth 
about  us  all  when  they  find  out  anything,"  he 
added,  significantly,  "  and  there 's  no  good  frighten- 
ing them  now." 

Tom  Simson  not  only  put  all  his  worldly  store 
at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Oakhurst,  but  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  prospect  of  their  enforced  seclusion. 
"  We  '11  have  a  good  camp  for  a  week,  and  then 
the  snow  '11  melt,  and  we  '11  all  go  back  together." 
The  cheerful  gayety  of  the  young  man,  and  Mr. 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF  POKER  FLAT.  29 

Oakhurst's  calm  infected  the  others.  The  Inno- 
cent, with  the  aid  of  pine-boughs,  extemporized  a 
thatch  for  the  roofless  cabin,  and  the  Duchess  di- 
rected Piney  in  the  rearrangement  of  the  interior 
with  a  taste  and  tact  that  opened  the  blue  eyes  of 
that  provincial  maiden  to  their  fullest  extent.  "  I 
reckon  now  you're  used  to  fine  things  at  Poker 
Flat,"  said  Piney.  The  Duchess  turned  away  sharp- 
ly to  conceal  something  that  reddened  her  cheeks 
through  its  professional  tint,  and  Mother  Shipton 
requested  Piney  not  to  "  chatter."  But  when  Mr. 
Oakhurst  returned  from  a  weary  search  for  the 
trail,  he  heard  the  sound  of  happy  laughter  echoed 
from  the  rocks.  He  stopped  in  some  alarm,  and 
his  thoughts  first  naturally  reverted  to  the  whis- 
key, which  he  had  prudently  cached.  "And  yet 
it  don't  somehow  sound  like  whiskey,"  said  the 
gambler.  It  was  not  until  he  caught  sight  of  the 
blazing  fire  through  the  still-blinding  storm  and 
the  group  around  it  that  he  settled  to  the  convic- 
tion that  it  was  "  square  fun." 

Whether  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  cached  his  cards 
with  the  whiskey  as  something  debarred  the  free 
access  of  the  community,  I  cannot  say.  It  was 
certain  that,  in  Mother  Shipton's  words,  he  "  did  n't 
say  cards  once  "  during  that  evening.  Haply  the 
time  was  beguiled  by  an  accordion,  produced  some- 
what ostentatiously  by  Tom  Simson  from  his  pack. 
Notwithstanding  some  difficulties  attending  the 


30       THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

manipulation  of  this  instrument,  Piney  Woods 
managed  to  pluck  several  reluctant  melodies  from 
its  keys,  to  an  accompaniment  by  the  Innocent 
on  a  pair  of  bone  castinets.  But  the  crowning 
festivity  of  the  evening  was  reached  in  a  rude 
camp-meeting  hymn,  which  the  lovers,  joining 
hands,  sang  with  great  earnestness  and  vocifera- 
tion. I  fear  that  a  certain  defiant  tone  and  Cove- 
nanter's swing  to  its  chorus,  rather  than  any  de- 
votional quality,  caused  it  speedily  to  infect  the 
others,  who  at  last  joined  in  the  refrain :  — 

"  I  'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I  'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army." 

The  pines  rocked,  the  storm  eddied  and  whirled 
above  the  miserable  group,  and  the  flames  of  their 
altar  leaped  heavenward,  as  if  in  token  of  the 
vow. 

At  midnight  the  storm  abated,  the  rolling  clouds 
parted,  and  the  stars  glittered  keenly  above  the 
sleeping  camp.  Mr.  Oakhurst,  whose  professional 
habits  had  enabled  him  to  live  on  the  smallest 
possible  amount  of  sleep,  in  dividing  the  watch 
with  Tom  Simson,  somehow  managed  to  take  upon 
himself  the  greater  part  of  that  duty.  He  excused 
himself  to  the  Innocent,  by  saying  that  he  had 
"often  been  a  week  without  sleep."  "Doing 
what  ?  "  asked  Tom.  "  Poker  ! "  replied  Oakhurst, 
sententiously ;  "  when  a  man  gets  a  streak  of  luck, 


THE   OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.  31 

—  nigger-luck,  —  he  don't  get  tired.  The  luck 
gives  in  first.  Luck/'  continued  the  gambler,  re- 
flectively, "  is  a  mighty  queer  thing.  All  you  know 
about  it  for  certain  is  that  it 's  bound  to  change. 
And  it's  finding  out  when  it's  going  to  change 
that  makes  you.  We  've  had  a  streak  of  bad  luck 
since  we  left  Poker  Flat,  —  you  come  along,  and 
slap  you  get  into  it,  too.  If  you  can  hold  your 
cards  right  along  you  're  all  right.  For,"  added 
the  gambler,  with  cheerful  irrelevance,  — 

"  '  I  'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I  'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army.'  " 

The  third  day  came,  and  the  sun,  looking  through 
the  white-curtained  valley,  saw  the  outcasts  divide 
their  slowly  decreasing  store  of  provisions  for  the 
morning  meal.  It  was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of 
that  mountain  climate  that  its  rays  diffused  a 
kindly  warmth  over  the  wintry  landscape,  as  if  in 
regretful  commiseration  of  the  past.  But  it  re- 
vealed drift  on  drift  of  snow  piled  high  around 
the  hut,  —  a  hopeless,  uncharted,  trackless  sea  of 
white  lying  below  the  rocky  shores  to  which  the 
castaways  still  clung.  Through  the  marvellously 
clear  air  the  smoke  of  the  pastoral  village  of  Po- 
ker Flat  rose  miles  away.  Mother  Shipton  saw  it, 
and  from  a  remote  pinnacle  of  her  rocky  fastness, 
hurled  in  that  direction  a  final  malediction.  It 
was  her  last  vituperative  attempt,  and  perhaps  for 


32       THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

that  reason  was  invested  with  a  certain  degree  of 
sublimity.  It  did  her  good,  she  privately  informed 
the  Duchess.  "Just  you  go  out  there  and  cuss, 
and  see."  She  then  set  herself  to  the  task  of 
amusing  "  the  child,"  as  she  and  the  Duchess  were 
pleased  to  call  Piney.  Piney  was  no  chicken,  but 
it  was  a  soothing  and  original  theory  of  the  pair 
thus  to  account  for  the  fact  that  she  did  n't  swear 
and  was  n't  improper. 

When  night  crept  up  again  through  the  gorges, 
the  reedy  notes  of  the  accordion  rose  and  fell  in 
fitful  spasms  and  long-drawn  gasps  by  the  flicker- 
ing camp-fire.  But  music  failed  to  fill  entirely  the 
aching  void  left  by  insufficient  food,  and  a  new 
diversion  was  proposed  by  Piney,  —  story-telling. 
Neither  Mr.  Oakhurst  nor  his  female  companions 
caring  to  relate  their  personal  experiences,  this 
plan  would  have  failed,  too,  but  for  the  Innocent. 
Some  months  before  he  had  chanced  upon  a  stray 
copy  of  Mr.  Pope's  ingenious  translation  of  the 
Iliad.  He  now  proposed  to  narrate  the  principal 
incidents  of  that  poem  —  having  thoroughly  mas- 
tered the  argument  and  fairly  forgotten  the  words 
—  in  the  current  vernacular  of  Sandy  Bar.  And 
so  for  the  rest  of  that  night  the  Homeric  demigods 
again  walked  the  earth.  Trojan  bully  and  wily 
Greek  wrestled  in  the  winds,  and  the  great  pines 
in  the  canon  seemed  to  bow  to  the  wrath  of  the 
son  of  Peleus.  Mr.  Oakhurst  listened  with  quiet 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.       33 

satisfaction.  Most  especially  was  he  interested  in 
the  fate  of  "Ash-heels,"  as  the  Innocent  persisted 
in  denominating  the  "  swift-footed  Achilles." 

So  with  small  food  and  much  of  Homer  and  the 
accordion,  a  week  passed  over  the  heads  of  the 
outcasts.  The  sun  again  forsook  them,  and  again 
from  leaden  skies  the  snow-flakes  were  sifted  over 
the  land.  Day  by  day  closer  around  them  drew 
the  snowy  circle,  until  at  last  they  looked  from 
their  prison  over  drifted  walls  of  dazzling  white, 
that  towered  twenty  feet  above  their  heads.  It 
became  more  and  more  difficult  to  replenish  their 
fires,  even  from  the  fallen  trees  beside  them,  now 
half  hidden  in  the  drifts.  And  yet  no  one  com- 
plained. The  lovers  turned  from  the  dreary  pros- 
pect and  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  were 
happy.  Mr.  Oakhurst  settled  himself  coolly  to 
the  losing  game  before  him.  The  Duchess,  more 
cheerful  than  she  had  been,  assumed  the  care  of 
Piney.  Only  Mother  Shipton  —  once  the  strong- 
est of  the  party  —  seemed  to  sicken  and  fade.  At 
midnight  on  the  tenth  day  she  called  Oakhurst  to 
her  side.  "  I  'm  going,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of 
querulous  weakness,  "  but  don't  say  anything  about 
it.  Don't  waken  the  kids.  Take  the  bundle  from 
under  my  head  and  open  it."  Mr.  Oakhurst  did 
so.  It  contained  Mother  Shipton's  rations  for  the 
last  week,  untouched.  "Give  'em  to  the  child," 
she  said,  pointing  to  the  sleeping  Piney.  "  You  Ve 

2*  C 


34       THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

starved  yourself,"  said  the  gambler.  "  That 's  what 
they  call  it,"  said  the  woman,  querulously,  as  she 
lay  down  again,  and,  turning  her  face  to  the  wall, 
passed  quietly  away.* 

The  accordion  and  the  bones  were  put  aside  that 
day,  and  Homer  was  forgotten.  When  the  body 
of  Mother  Shipton  had  been  committed  to  the 
snow,  Mr.  Oakhurst  took  the  Innocent  aside,  and 
showed  him  a  pair  of  snow-shoes,  which  he  had 
fashioned  from  the  old  pack-saddle.  "There  's 
one  chance  in  a  hundred  to  save  her  yet,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  Piney;  "but  it's  there,"  he  added, 
pointing  toward  Poker  Flat.  "If  you  can  reach 
there  in  two  days  she 's  safe."  "  And  you  ? "  asked 
Tom  Simson.  "  I  '11  stay  here,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

The  lovers  parted  with  a  long  embrace.  "  You 
are  not  going,  too  ? "  said  the  Duchess,  as  she  saw 
Mr.  Oakhurst  apparently  waiting  to  accompany 
him.  "  As  far  as  the  canon,"  he  replied.  He 
turned  suddenly,  and  kissed  the  Duchess,  leaving 
her  pallid  face  aflame,  and  her  trembling  limbs 
rigid  with  amazement. 

Night  came,  but  not  Mr.  Oakhurst.  It  brought 
the  storm  again  and  the  whirling  snow.  Then  the 
Duchess,  feeding  the  fire,  found  that  some  one  had 
quietly  piled  beside  the  hut  enough  fuel  to  last  a 
few  days  longer.  The  tears  rose  to  her  eyes,  but 
she  hid  them  from  Piney. 

The  women  slept  but  little.     In  the  morning, 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.       35 

looking  into  each  other's  faces,  they  read  their  fate. 
Neither  spoke ;  but  Piney,  accepting  the  position 
of  the  stronger,  drew  near  and  placed  her  arm 
around  the  Duchess's  waist  They  kept  this  atti- 
tude for  the  rest  of  the  day.  That  night  the  storm 
reached  its  greatest  fury,  and,  rending  asunder  the 
protecting  pines,  invaded  the  very  hut. 

Toward  morning  they  found  themselves  unable 
to  feed  the  fire,  which  gradually  died  away.  As 
the  embers  slowly  blackened,  the  Duchess  crept 
closer  to  Piney,  and  broke  the  silence  of  many 
hours  :  "  Piney,  can  you  pray  ? "  "  No,  dear,"  said 
Piney,  simply.  The  Duchess,  without  knowing 
exactly  why,  felt  relieved,  and,  putting  her  head 
upon  Piney's  shoulder,  spoke  no  more.  And  so 
reclining,  the  younger  and  purer  pillowing  the 
head  of  her  soiled  sister  upon  her  virgin  breast, 
they  fell  asleep. 

The  wind  lulled  as  if  it  feared  to  waken  them. 
Feathery  drifts  of  snow,  shaken  from  the  long  pine- 
boughs,  flew  like  white-winged  birds,  and  settled 
about  them  as  they  slept.  The  moon  through  the 
rifted  clouds  looked  down  upon  what  had  been  the 
camp.  But  all  human  stain,  all  trace  of  earthly 
travail,  was  hidden  beneath  the  spotless  mantle 
mercifully  flung  from  above. 

They  slept  all  that  day  and  the  next,  nor  did 
they  waken  when  voices  and  footsteps  broke  the 
silence  of  the  camp.  And  when  pitying  fingers 


36       THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

brushed  the  snow  from  their  wan  faces,  you  could 
scarcely  have  told  from  the  equal  peace  that  dwelt 
upon  them,  which  was  she  that  had  sinned.  Even 
the  law  of  Poker  Flat  recognized  this,  and  turned 
away,  leaving  them  still  locked  in  each  other's 
arms. 

But  at  the  head  of  the  gulch,  on  one  of  the 
largest  pine-trees,  they  found  the  deuce  of  clubs 
pinned  to  the  bark  with  a  bowie-knife.  It  bore 
the  following,  written  in  pencil,  in  a  firm  hand :  — 


BENEATH   THIS   TREE 

LIES   THE   BODY 

OP 

JOHN  OAKHURST, 

WHO   STRUCK   A   STREAK   OF   BAD    LUCK 
ON  THE   23D   OF   NOVEMBER,    1850, 

AND 

HANDED   IN  HIS   CHECKS 
ON   THE   7TH   DECEMBER,   1850. 

-I- 

And  pulseless  and  cold,  with  a  Derringer  by  his 
side  and  a  bullet  in  his  heart,  though  still  calm  as 
in  life,  beneath  the  snow  lay  he  who  was  at  once 
the  strongest  and  yet  the  weakest  of  the  outcasts 
of  Poker  Flat. 


HIGGLES. 

WE  were  eight,  including  the  driver.  We 
had  not  spoken  during  the  passage  of  the 
last  six  miles,  since  the  jolting  of  the  heavy  vehi- 
cle over  the  roughening  road  had  spoiled  the 
Judge's  last  poetical  quotation.  The  tall  man  be- 
side the  Judge  was  asleep,  his  arm  passed  through 
the  swaying  strap  and  his  head  resting  upon  it,  — 
altogether  a  limp,  helpless-looking  object,  as  if  he 
had  hanged  himself  and  been  cut  down  too  late. 
The  French  lady  on  the  back  seat  was  asleep,  too, 
yet  in  a  half-conscious  propriety  of  attitude,  shown 
even  in  the  disposition  of  the  handkerchief  which 
she  held  to  her  forehead  and  which  partially  veiled 
her  face.  The  lady  from  Virginia  City,  travelling 
with  her  husband,  had  long  since  lost  all  indi- 
viduality in  a  wild  confusion  of  ribbons,  veils, 
furs,  and  shawTls.  There  was  no  sound  but  the 
rattling  of  wheels  and  the  dash  of  rain  upon  the 
roof.  Suddenly  the  stage  stopped  and  we  became 
dimly  aware  of  voices.  The  driver  was  evidently 
in  the  midst  of  an  exciting  colloquy  with  some 
one  in  the  road,  —  a  colloquy  of  which  such  frag- 
ments as  "  bridge  gone,"  "  twenty  feet  of  water," 


38  HIGGLES. 

"can't  pass,"  were  occasionally  distinguishable 
above  the  storm.  Then  came  a  lull,  and  a  myste- 
rious voice  from  the  road  shouted  the  parting  ad- 
juration, — 

"  Try  Miggles's." 

We  caught  a  glimpse  of  our  leaders  as  the  vehi- 
cle slowly  turned,  of  a  horseman  vanishing  through 
the  rain,  and  we  were  evidently  on  our  way  to 
Miggles's. 

Who  and  where  was  Higgles  ?  The  Judge,  our 
authority,  did  not  remember  the  name,  and  he 
knew  the  country  thoroughly.  The  Washoe  trav- 
eller thought  Higgles  must  keep  a  hotel.  We 
only  knew  that  we  were  stopped  by  high  water  in 
front  and  rear,  and  that  Higgles  was  our  rock  of 
refuge.  A  ten  minutes'  splashing  through  a  tan- 
gled by-road,  scarcely  wide  enough  for  the  stage, 
and  we  drew  up  before  a  barred  and  boarded  gate 
in  a  wide  stone  wall  or  fence  about  eight  feet 
high.  Evidently  Miggles's,  and  evidently  Higgles 
did  not  keep  a  hotel. 

The  driver  got  down  and  tried  the  gate.  It  was 
securely  locked. 

"  Higgles  !  0  Higgles  ! " 

No  answer. 

"Migg-ells!  You  Higgles!"  continued  the 
driver,  with  rising  wrath. 

"  Higglesy  ! "  joined  in  the  expressman,  persua- 
sively. "0  Higgy!  Migl" 


HIGGLES.  39 

But  no  reply  came  from  the  apparently  insen- 
sate Higgles.  The  Judge,  who  had  finally  got  the 
window  down,  put  his  head  out  and  propounded  a 
series  of  questions,  which  if  answered  categorically 
would  have  undoubtedly  elucidated  the  whole 
mystery,  but  which  the  driver  evaded  by  replying 
that  "  if  we  did  n't  want  to  sit  in  the  coach  all 
night,  we  had  better  rise  up  and  sing  out  for 
Higgles." 

So  we  rose  up  and  called  on  Higgles  in  chorus ; 
then  separately.  And  when  we  had  finished,  a 
Hibernian  fellow-passenger  from  the  roof  called 
for  "  Haygells  ! "  whereat  we  all  laughed.  While 
we  were  laughing,  the  driver  cried  "  Shoo  ! " 

We  listened.  To  our  infinite  amazement  the 
chorus  of  "  Higgles  "  was  repeated  from  the  other 
side  of  the  wall,  even  to  the  final  and  supplemen- 
tal «  Haygells." 

"  Extraordinary  echo,"  said  the  Judge. 

"  Extraordinary  d — d  skunk  ! "  roared  the  driver, 
contemptuously.  "  Come  out  of  that,  Higgles, 
and  show  yourself !  Be  a  man,  Higgles  !  Don't 
hide  in  the  dark;  I  would  n't  if  I  were  you, 
Higgles,"  continued  Yuba  Bill,  now  dancing  about 
in  an  excess  of  fury. 

"  Higgles  ! "  continued  the  voice,  "  0  Higgles ! " 

"  Hy  good  man  !  Hr.  Hyghail ! "  said  the  Judge, 
softening  the  asperities  of  the  name  as  much  as 
possible.  "  Consider  the  inhospitality  of  refusing 


40  HIGGLES. 

shelter  from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather  to 
helpless  females.  Beally,  my  dear  sir  — "  But 
a  succession  of  "Higgles,"  ending  in  a  burst  of 
laughter,  drowned  his  voice. 

Yuba  Bill  hesitated  no  longer.  Taking  a  heavy 
stone  from  the  road,  he  battered  down  the  gate, 
and  with  the  expressman  entered  the  enclosure. 
We  followed.  Nobody  was  to  be  seen.  In  the 
gathering  darkness  all  that  we  could  distinguish 
was  that  we  were  in  a  garden  —  from  the  rose- 
bushes that  scattered  over  us  a  minute  spray  from 
their  dripping  leaves  —  and  before  a  long,  ram- 
bling wooden  building. 

"  Do  you  know  this  Higgles  ? "  asked  the  Judge 
of  Yuba  Bill. 

"  No,  nor  don't  want  to,"  said  Bill,  shortly,  who 
felt  the  Pioneer  Stage  Company  insulted  in  his 
person  by  the  contumacious  Higgles. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  expostulated  the  Judge,  as 
he  thought  of  the  barred  gate. 

"  Lookee  here,"  said  Yuba  Bill,  with  fine  irony, 
"  had  n't  you  better  go  back  and  sit  in  the  coach 
till  yer  introduced  ?  I  'm  going  in,"  and  he 
pushed  open  the  door  of  the  building. 

A  long  room  lighted  only  by  the  embers  of  a 
fire  that  was  dying  on  the  large  hearth  at  its  fur- 
ther extremity ;  the  walls  curiously  papered,  and 
the  flickering  firelight  bringing  out  its  grotesque 
pattern;  somebody  sitting  in  a  large  arm-chair 


HIGGLES.  41 

by  the  fireplace.  All  this  we  saw  as  we  crowded 
together  into  the  room,  after  the  driver  and  ex- 
pressman. 

"  Hello,  be  you  Higgles  ? "  said  Yuba  Bill  to 
the  solitary  occupant. 

The  figure  neither  spoke  nor  stirred.  Yuba 
Bill  walked  wrathfully  toward  it,  and  turned  the 
eye  of  his  coach-lantern  upon  its  face.  It  was  a 
man's  face,  prematurely  old  and  wrinkled, .  with 
very  large  eyes,  in  which  there  was  that  expres- 
sion of  perfectly  gratuitous  solemnity  which  I  had 
sometimes  seen  in  an  owl's.  The  large  eyes  wan- 
dered from  Bill's  face  to  the  lantern,  and  finally 
fixed  their  gaze  on  that  luminous  object,  without 
further  recognition. 

Bill  restrained  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  Higgles  !  Be  you  deaf  ?  You  ain't  dumb 
anyhow,  you  know " ;  and  Yuba  Bill  shook  the 
insensate  figure  by  the  shoulder. 

To  our  great  dismay,  as  Bill  removed  his  hand, 
the  venerable  stranger  apparently  collapsed, — 
sinking  into  half  his  size  and  an  undistinguish- 
able  heap  of  clothing. 

"Well,  dern  my  skin,"  said  Bill,  looking  ap- 
pealingly  at  us,  and  hopelessly  retiring  from  the 
contest. 

The  Judge  now  stepped  forward,  and  we  lifted 
the  mysterious  invertebrate  back  into  his  original 
position.  Bill  was  dismissed  with  the  lantern  to 


42  HIGGLES. 

reconnoitre  outside,  for  it  was  evident  that  from 
the  helplessness  of  this  solitary  man  there  must  be 
attendants  'near  at  hand,  and  we  all  drew  around 
the  fire.  The  Judge,  who  had  regained  his  au- 
thority, and  had  never  lost  his  conversational 
amiability,  —  standing  before  us  with  his  back  to 
the  hearth,  —  charged  us,  as  an  imaginary  jury, 
as  follows :  — 

"  It  is  evident  that  either  our  distinguished 
friend  here  has  reached  that  condition  described 
by  Shakespeare  as  'the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,'  or 
has  suffered  some  premature  abatement  of  his 
mental  and  physical  faculties.  Whether  he  is 
really  the  Higgles  —  " 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  "  Miggles  !  0  Mig- 
gles  !  Migglesy  !  Mig  ! "  and,  in  fact,  the  whole 
chorus  of  Miggles  in  very  much  the  same  key  as 
it  had  once  before  been  delivered  unto  us. 

We  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  some 
alarm.  The  Judge,  in  particular,  vacated  his  po- 
sition quickly,  as  the  voice  seemed  to  come  di- 
rectly over  his  shoulder.  The  cause,  however,  was 
soon  discovered  in  a  large  magpie  who  was 
perched  upon  a  shelf  over  the  fireplace,  and  who 
immediately  relapsed  into  a  sepulchral  silence, 
which  contrasted  singularly  with  his  previous 
volubility.  It  was,  undoubtedly,  his  voice  which 
we  had  heard  in  the  road,  and  our  friend  in  the 
chair  was  not  responsible  for  the  discourtesy. 


HIGGLES.  43 

Yuba  Bill,  who  re-entered  the  room  after  an  un- 
successful search,  was  loath  to  accept  the  explana- 
tion, and  still  eyed  the  helpless  sitter  with  suspi- 
cion. He  had  found  a  shed  in  which  he  had  put 
up  his  horses,  but  he  came  back  dripping  and 
sceptical.  "  Thar  ain't  nobody  but  him  within 
ten  mile  of  the  shanty,  and  that  'ar  d — d  old 
skeesicks  knows  it." 

But  the  faith  of  the  majority  proved  to  be  se- 
curely based.  Bill  had  scarcely  ceased  growling 
before  we  heard  a  quick  step  upon  the  porch, 
the  trailing  of  a  wet  skirt,  the  door  was  flung 
open,  and  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth,  a  sparkle 
of  dark  eyes,  and  an  utter  absence  of  ceremony 
or  diffidence,  a  young  woman  entered,  shut  the 
door,  and,  panting,  leaned  back  against  it. 

"  0,  if  you  please,  I  'm  Higgles  !  " 

And  this  was  Higgles !  this  bright-eyed,  full- 
throated  young  woman,  whose  wet  gown  of  coarse 
blue  stuff  could  not  hide  the  beauty  of  the  femi- 
nine curves  to  which  it  clung ;  from  the  chestnut 
crown  of  whose  head,  topped  by  a  man's  oil-skin 
sou'wester,  to  the  little  feet  and  ankles,  hid- 
den somewhere  in  the  recesses  of  her  boy's  bro- 
gans,  all  was  grace  ;  —  this  was  Higgles,  laughing 
at  us,  too,  in  the  most  airy,  frank,  off-hand  man- 
ner imaginable. 

"  You  see,  boys,"  said  she,  quite  out  of  breath, 
and  holding  one  little  hand  against  her  side,  quite 


44  HIGGLES. 

unheeding  the  speechless  discomfiture  of  our  par- 
ty, or  the  complete  demoralization  of  Yuba  Bill, 
whose  features  had  relaxed  into  an  expression  of 
gratuitous  and  imbecile  cheerfulness,  — "  you  see, 
boys,  I  was  mor'n  two  miles  away  when  you 
passed  down  the  road.  I  thought  you  might  pull 
up  here,  and  so  I  ran  the  whole  way,  knowing 
nobody  was  home  but  Jim,  —  and  —  and  —  I  'm 
out  of  breath  —  and  —  that  lets  me  out." 

And  here  Higgles  caught  her  dripping  oil-skin 
hat  from  her  head,  with  a  mischievous  swirl  that 
scattered  a  shower  of  rain-drops  over  us ;  at- 
tempted to  put  back  her  hair  ;  dropped  two  hair- 
pins in  the  attempt ;  laughed  and  sat  down  beside 
Yuba  Bill,  with  her  hands  crossed  lightly  on  her 
lap. 

The  Judge  recovered  himself  first,  and  essayed 
an  extravagant  compliment. 

"  I  '11  trouble  you  for  that  thar  har-pin,"  said 
Higgles,  gravely.  Half  a  dozen  hands  were  eagerly 
stretched  forward;  the  missing  hair-pin  was  re- 
stored to  its  fair  owner ;  and  Higgles,  crossing  the 
room,  looked  keenly  in  the  face  of  the  invalid. 
The  solemn  eyes  looked  back  at  hers  with  an  ex- 
pression we  had  never  seen  before.  Life  and  in- 
telligence seemed  to  struggle  back  into  the  rugged 
face.  Higgles  laughed  again,  —  it  was  a  singularly 
eloquent  laugh,  —  and  turned  her  black  eyes  and 
white  teeth  once  more  toward  us. 


MIGGLES.  45 

"This  afflicted  person  is  — "  hesitated  the 
Judge. 

"  Jim/'  said  Higgles. 

"Your  father?" 

-"  No." 

"  Brother  ? " 

"No." 

"Husband?" 

Higgles  darted  a  quick,  half-defiant  glance  at 
the  two  lady  passengers  who  I  had  noticed  did 
not  participate  in  the  general  masculine  admira- 
tion of  Higgles,  and  said,  gravely,  "  No ;  it 's 
Jim." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  The  lady  pas- 
sengers moved  closer  to  each  other ;  the  Washoe 
husband  looked  abstractedly  at  the  fire ;  and  the 
tall  man  apparently  turned  his  eyes  inward  for 
self-support  at  this  emergency.  But  Higgles's 
laugh,  which  was  very  infectious,  broke  the  silence. 
"  Come,"  she  said  briskly,  "  you  must  be  hungry. 
Who  '11  bear  a  hand  to  help  me  get  tea  ?  " 

She  had  no  lack  of  volunteers.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments Yuba  Bill  was  engaged  like  Caliban  in 
bearing  logs  for  this  Hiranda ;  the  expressman 
was  grinding  coffee  on  the  veranda ;  to  myself 
the  arduous  duty  of  slicing  bacon  was  assigned ; 
and  the  Judge  lent  each  man  his  good-humored 
and  voluble  counsel.  And  when  Higgles,  assisted 
by  the  Judge  and  our  Hibernian  "  deck  passen- 


46  HIGGLES. 

ger,"  set  the  table  with  all  the  available  crock- 
ery, we  had  become  quite  joyous,  in  spite  of  the 
rain  that  beat  against  windows,  the  wind  that 
whirled  down  the  chimney,  the  two  ladies  who 
whispered  together  in  the  corner,  or  the  magpie" 
who  uttered  a  satirical  and  croaking  commentary 
on  their  conversation  from  his  perch  above.  In 
the  now  bright,  blazing  fire  we  could  see  that 
the  walls  w^ere  papered  with  illustrated  journals, 
arranged  with  feminine  taste  and  discrimination. 
The  furniture  was  extemporized,  and  adapted  from 
candle-boxes  and  packing-cases,  and  covered  with 
gay  calico,  or  the  skin  of  some  animal.  The 
arm-chair  of  the  helpless  Jim  was  an  ingenious 
variation  of  a  flour-barrel.  There  was  neatness, 
and  even  a  taste  for  the  picturesque,  to  be  seen  in 
the  few  details  of  the  long  low  room. 

The  meal  was  a  culinary  success.  But  more,  it 
was  a  social  triumph,  —  chiefly,  I  think,  owing  to 
the  rare  tact  of  Higgles  in  guiding  the  conversa- 
tion, asking  all  the  questions  herself,  yet  bearing 
throughout  a  frankness  that  rejected  the  idea  of 
any  concealment  on  her  own  part,  so  that  we  talked 
of  ourselves,  of  our  prospects,  of  the  journey,  of 
the  weather,  of  each  other,  —  of  everything  but 
our  host  and  hostess.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
Higgles' s  conversation  was  never  elegant,  rarely 
grammatical,  and  that  at  times  she  employed  exple- 
tives, the  use  of  which  had  generally  been  yielded 


MIGGLES.  47 

to  our  sex.  But  they  were  delivered  with  such 
a  lighting  up  of  teeth  and  eyes,  and  were  usually 
followed  by  a  laugh  —  a  laugh  peculiar  to  Hig- 
gles —  so  frank  and  honest  that  it  seemed  to  clear 
the  moral  atmosphere. 

Once,  during  the  meal,  we  heard  a  noise  like 
the  rubbing  of  a  heavy  body  against  the  outer 
walls  of  the  house.  This  was  shortly  followed  by  a 
scratching  and  sniffling  at  the  door.  "  That 's  Joa- 
quin," said  Higgles,  in  reply  to  our  questioning 
glances  ;  "  would  you  like  to  see  him  ? "  Before  we 
could  answer  she  had  opened  the  door,  and  dis- 
closed a  half-grown  grizzly,  who  instantly  raised 
himself  on  his  haunches,  with  his  forepaws  hang- 
ing down  in  the  popular  attitude  of  mendicancy, 
and  looked  admiringly  at  Higgles,  with  a  very 
singular  resemblance  in  his  manner  to  Yuba  Bill. 
"  That 's  my  watch-dog,"  said  Higgles,  in  explana- 
tion. "  0,  he  don't  bite,"  she  added,  as  the  two 
lady  passengers  fluttered  into  a  corner.  "  Does  he, 
old  Toppy  ? "  (the  latter  remark  being  Addressed 
directly  to  the  sagacious  Joaquin.)  "  I  tell  you 
what,  boys,"  continued  Higgles,  after  she  had  fed 
and  closed  the  door  on  Ursa  Minor,  "  you  were  in 
big  luck  that  Joaquin  was  n't  hanging  round  when 
you  dropped  in  to-night."  "  Where  was  he  ? " 
asked  the  Judge.  "With  me,"  said  Higgles. 
"  Lord  love  you ;  he  trots  round  with  me  nights 
like  as  if  he  was  a  man." 


48  HIGGLES. 

We  were  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  wind.  Perhaps  we  all  had  the  same 
picture  before  us,  —  of  Miggles  walking  through 
the  rainy  woods,  with  her  savage  guardian  at  her 
side.  The  Judge,  I  remember,  said  something 
about  Una  and  her  lion ;  but  Miggles  received  it 
as  she  did  other  compliments,  with  quiet  gravity. 
Whether  she  was  altogether  unconscious  of  the 
admiration  she  excited,  —  she  could  hardly  have 
been  oblivious  of  Yuba  Bill's  adoration,  —  I  know 
not ;  but  her  very  frankness  suggested  a  perfect 
sexual  equality  that  was  cruelly  humiliating  to 
the  younger  members  of  our  party. 

The  incident  of  the  bear  did  not  add  anything 
in  Miggles's  favor  to  the  opinions  of  those  of  her 
own  sex  who  were  present.  In  fact,  the  repast 
over,  a  chillness  radiated  from  the  two  lady  pas- 
sengers that  no  pine-boughs  brought  in  by  Yuba 
Bill  and  cast  as  a  sacrifice  upon  the  hearth  could 
wholly  overcome.  Miggles  felt  it ;  and,  suddenly 
declaring  that  it  was  time  to  "  turn  in,"  offered  to 
show  the  ladies  to  their  bed  in  an  adjoining  room. 
"  You,  boys,  will  have  to  camp  out  here  by  the 
fire  as  well  as  you  can,"  she  added,  "  for  thar  ain't 
but  the  one  room." 

Our  sex  —  by  which,  my  dear  sir,  I  allude  of 
course  to  the  stronger  portion  of  humanity  —  has 
been  generally  relieved  from  the  imputation  of  cu- 
riosity, or  a  fondness  for  gossip.  Yet  I  am  con- 


HIGGLES:  49 

strained  to  say,  that  hardly  had  the  door  closed  on 
Miggles  than  we  crowded  together,  whispering, 
snickering,  smiling,  and  exchanging  suspicions, 
surmises,  and  a  thousand  speculations  in  regard  to 
our  pretty  hostess  and  her  singular  companion.  I 
fear  that  we  even  hustled  that  imbecile  paralytic, 
who  sat  like  a  voiceless  Memnon  in  our  midst, 
gazing  with  the  serene  indifference  of  the  Past  in 
his  passionless  eyes  upon  our  wordy  counsels.  In 
the  midst  of  an  exciting  discussion  the  door  opened 
again,  and  Miggles  re-entered. 

But  not,  apparently,  the  same  Miggles  who  a 
few  hours  before  had  flashed  upon  us.  Her  eyes 
were  downcast,  and  as  she  hesitated  for  a  moment 
on  the  threshold,  with  a  blanket  on  her  arm,  she 
seemed  to  have  left  behind  her  the  frank  fearless- 
ness which  had  charmed  us  a  moment  before. 
Coming  into  the  room,  she  drew  a  low  stool  beside 
the  paralytic's  chair,  sat  down,  drew  the  blanket 
over  her  shoulders,  and  saying,  "  If  it 's  all  the  same 
to  you,  boys,  as  we  're  rather  crowded,  I  '11  stop 
here  to-night,"  took  the  invalid's  withered  hand  in 
her  own,  and  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  dying  fire. 
An  instinctive  feeling  that  this  was  only  premoni- 
tory to  more  confidential  relations,  and  perhaps 
some  shame  at  our  previous  curiosity,  kept  us  si- 
lent. The  rain  still  beat  upon  the  roof,  wander- 
ing gusts  of  wind  stirred  the  embers  into  momen- 
tary brightness,  until,  in  a  lull  of  the  elements, 

3  D 


50  HIGGLES. 

Higgles  suddenly  lifted  up  her  head,  and,  throw- 
ing her  hair  over  her  shoulder,  turned  her   face 

o 

upon  the  group  and  asked,  — 

"  Is  there  any  of  you  that  knows  me  ? " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Think  again  !  I  lived  at  Marysville  in  '53. 
Everybody  knew  me  there,  and  everybody  had  the 
right  to  know  me.  I  kept  the  Polka  Saloon  until 
I  came  to  live  with  Jim.  That 's  six  years  ago. 
Perhaps  I've  changed  some." 

The  absence  of  recognition  may  have  discon- 
certed her.  She  turned  her  head  to  the  fire  again, 
and  it  was  some  seconds  before  she  again  spoke, 
and  then  more  rapidly  :  — 

"  Well,  you  see  I  thought  some  of  you  must 
have  known  me.  There 's  no  great  harm  done, 
anyway.  What  I  was  going  to  say  was  this  :  Jim 
here  "  —  she  took  his  hand  in  both  of  hers  as  she 
spoke  —  "  used  to  know  me,  if  you  did  n't,  and 
spent  a  heap  of  money  upon  me.  I  reckon  he 
spent  all  he  had.  And  one  day  —  it 's  six  years 
ago  this  winter  —  Jim  came  into  my  back  room, 
sat  down  on  my  sofy,  like  as  you  see  him  in  that 
chair,  and  never  moved  again  without  help.  He 
was  struck  all  of  a  heap,  and  never  seemed  to 
know  what  ailed  him.  The  doctors  came  and  said 
as  how  it  was  caused  all  along  of  his  way  of  life, 
—  for  Jim  was  mighty  free  and  wild  like,  —  and 
that  he  would  never  get  better,  and  could  n't  last 


HIGGLES.  51 

long  anyway.  They  advised  me  to  send  him  to 
Frisco  to  the  hospital,  for  he  was  no  good  to  any 
one  and  would  be  a  baby  all  his  life.  .  Perhaps  it 
was  something  in  Jim's  eye,  perhaps  it  was  that  I 
never  had  a  baby,  but  I  said  '  No.'  I  was  rich 
then,  for  I  was  popular  with  everybody,  —  gentle- 
men like  yourself,  sir,  came  to  see  me,  —  and  I 
sold  out  my  business  and  bought  this  yer  place, 
because  it  was  sort  of  out  of  the  way  of  travel,  you 
see,  and  I  brought  my  baby  here." 

With  a  woman's  intuitive  tact  and  poetry,  she 
had,  as  she  spoke,  slowly  shifted  her  position  so  as 
to  bring  the  mute  figure  of  the  ruined  man  be- 
tween her  and  her  audience,  hiding  in  the  shadow 
behind  it,  as  if  she  offered  it  as  a  tacit  apology 
for  her  actions.  Silent  and  expressionless,  it  yet 
spoke  for  her  ;  helpless,  crushed,  and  smitten  with 
the  Divine  thunderbolt,  it  still  stretched  an  in- 
visible arm  around  her. 

Hidden  in  the  darkness,  but  still  holding  his 
hand,  she  went  on  :  — 

"  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  get  the  hang 
of  things  about  yer,  for  I  was  used  to  company 
and  excitement.  I  could  n't  get  any  woman  to 
help  me,  and  a  man  I  dursent  trust ;  but  what 
with  the  Indians  hereabout,  who  'd  do  odd  jobs  for 
me,  and  having  everything  sent  from  the  North 
Fork,  Jim  and  I  managed  to  worry  through.  The 
Doctor  would  run  up  from  Sacramento  once  in  a 


52  HIGGLES. 

while.  He  'd  ask  to  see  '  Miggles's  baby/  as  he 
called  Jim,  and  when  he  'd  go  away,  he  'd  say, 
'  Higgles  ;  you  're  a  trump,  —  God  bless  you ' ;  and 
it  did  n't  seem  so  lonely  after  that.  But  the  last 
time  he  was  here  he  said,  as  he  opened  the  door  to 
go,  '  Do  you  know,  Higgles,  your  baby  will  grow 
up  to  be  a  man  yet  and  an  honor  to  his  mother ; 
but  not  here,  Higgles,  not  here  ! '  And  I  thought 
he  went  away  sad,  —  and  —  and  —  "  and  here  Hig- 
gles's  voice  and  head  were  somehow  both  lost  com- 
pletely in  the  shadow. 

"  The  folks  about  here  are  very  kind,"  said  Hig- 
gles, after  a  pause,  coming  a  little  into  the  light 
again.  "  The  men  from  the  fork  used  to  hang 
around  here,  until  they  found  they  was  n't  wanted, 
and  the  women  are  kind,  —  and  don't  call.  I  was 
pretty  lonely  until  I  picked  up  Joaquiri  in  the 
woods  yonder  one  day,  when  he  was  n't  so  high, 
and  taught  him  to  beg  for  his  dinner ;  and  then 
thai 's  Polly  —  that 's  the  magpie  —  she  knows  no 
end  of  tricks,  and  makes  it  quite  sociable  of  even- 
ings with  her  talk,  and  so  I  don't  feel  like  as  I 
was  the  only  livfng  being  about  the  ranch.  And 
Jim  here,"  said  Higgles,  with  her  old  laugh  again, 
and  coming  out  quite  into  the  firelight,  "  Jim  — 
why,  boys,  you  would  admire  to  see  how  much  he 
knows  for  a  man  like  him.  Sometimes  I  bring 
him  flowers,  and  he  looks  at  'em  just  as  natural  as 
if  he  knew  'em ;  and  times,  when  we  're  sitting 


HIGGLES.  53 

alone,  I  read  him  those  things  on  the  wall.  Why, 
Lord  ! "  said  Higgles,  with  her  frank  laugh,  "  I  Ve 
read  him  that  whole  side  of  the  house  this  winter. 
There  never  was  such  a  man  for  reading  as  Jim." 

"Why,"  asked  the  Judge,  "do  you  not  marry 
this  man  to  whom  you  have  devoted  your  youth- 
ful life  ?  " 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Higgles,  "it  would  be 
playing  it  rather  low  down  on  Jim,  to*  take  advan- 
tage of  his  being  so  helpless.  And  then,  too,  if 
we  were  man  and  wife,  now,  we  'd  both  know  that 
I  was  hound  to  do  what  I  do  now  of  rny  own 
accord." 

"  But  you  are  young  yet  and  attractive  —  " 

"  It 's  getting  late,"  said  Miggles,  gravely,  "  and 
you  'd  better  all  turn  in.  Good-night,  boys  "  ;  and, 
throwing  the  blanket  over  her  head,  Miggles  laid 
herself  down  beside  Jim's  chair,  her  head  pillowed 
on  the  low  stool  that  held  his  feet,  and  spoke  no 
more.  The  fire  slowly  faded  from  the  hearth  ;  we 
each  sought  our  blankets  in  silence  ;  and  presently 
there  was  no  sound  in  the  long  -room  but  the  pat- 
tering of  the  rain  upon  the  roof,  and  the  heavy 
breathing  of  the  sleepers. 

It  was  nearly  morning  when  I  awoke  from  a 
troubled  dream.  The  storm  had  passed,  the  stars 
were  shining,  and  through  the  shutterless  window 
the  full  moon,  lifting  itself  over  the  solemn  pines 
without,  looked  into  the  room.  It  touched  the 


54  HIGGLES. 

lonely  figure  in  the  chair  with  an  infinite  compas- 
sion, and  seemed  to  baptize  with  a  shining  flood 
the  lowly  head  of  the  woman  whose  hair,  as  in 
the  sweet  old  story,  bathed  the  feet  of  him  she 
loved.  It  even  lent  a  kindly  poetry  to  the  rugged 
outline  of  Yuba  Bill,  half  reclining  on  his  elbow 
between  them  and  his  passengers,  with  savagely 
patient  eyes  keeping  watch  and  ward.  And  then 
I  fell  asleep  and  only  woke  at  broad  day,  with 
Yuba  Bill  standing  over  me,  and  "All  aboard" 
ringing  in  my  ears.  . 

Coffee  was  waiting  for  us  on  the  table,  but  Hig- 
gles was  gone.  We  wandered  about  the  house  and 
lingered  long  after  the  horses  were  harnessed,  but 
she  did  not  return.  It  was  evident  that  she  wished 
to  avoid  a  formal  leave-taking,  and  had  so  left 
us  to  depart  as  we  had  come.  After  we  had  helped 
the  ladies  into  the  coach,  we  returned  to  the  house 
and  solemnly  shook  hands  with  the  paralytic  Jim, 
as  solemnly  settling  him  back  into  position  after 
each  hand-shake.  Then  we  looked  for  the  last 
time  around  the  long  low  room,  at  the  stool  where 
Higgles  had  sat,  and  slowly  took  our  seats  in  the 
waiting  coach.  The  whip  cracked,  and  we  were 
off! 

But  as  we  reached  the  high-road,  Bill's  dexterous 
hand  laid  the  six  horses  back  on  their  haunches, 
and  the  stage  stopped  with  a  jerk.  Tor  there,  on 
a  little  eminence  beside  the  road,  stood  Higgles, 


HIGGLES.  55 

her  hair  flying,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her  white  hand- 
kerchief waving,  and  her  white  teeth  flashing  a 
last  "good-by."  We  waved  our  hats  in  return. 
And  then  Yuba  Bill,  as  if  fearful  of  further  fasci- 
nation, madly  lashed  his  horses  forward,  and  we 
sank  back  in  our  seats.  We  exchanged  not  a  word 
until  we  reached  the  North  Fork,  and  the  stage 
drew  up  at  the  Independence  House.  Then,  the 
Judge  leading,  we  walked  into  the  bar-room  and 
took  our  places  gravely  at  the  bar. 

"  Are  your  glasses  charged,  gentlemen  ? "  said 
the  Judge,  solemnly  taking  off  his  white  hat. 

They  were. 

"  Well,  then,  here 's  to  Higgles,  GOD  BLESS 
HER  ! " 

Perhaps  He  had.     Who  knows  ? 


TENNESSEE'S  PAETKER 

I  DO  not  think  that  we  ever  knew  his  real 
name.  Our  ignorance  of  it  certainly  never 
gave  us  any  social  inconvenience,  for  at  Sandy  Bar 
in  1854  most  men  were  christened  anew.  Some- 
times these  appellatives  were  derived  from  some 
distinctiveness  of  dress,  as  in  the  case  of  "  Dunga- 
ree Jack  "  ;  or  from  some  peculiarity  of  habit,  as 
shown  in  "  Saleratus  Bill,"  so  called  from  an  undue 
proportion  of  that  chemical  in  his  daily  bread ;  or 
from  some  unlucky  slip,  as  exhibited  in  "The  Iron 
Pirate,"  a  mild,  inoffensive  man,  who  earned  that 
baleful  title  by  his  unfortunate  mispronunciation 
of  the  term  "iron  pyrites."  Perhaps  this  may 
have  been  the  beginning  of  a  rude  heraldry ;  but 
I  am  constrained  to  think  that  it  was  because  a 
man's  real  name  in  that  day  rested  solely  upon 
his  own  unsupported  statement.  "Call  yourself 
Clifford,  do  you  ? "  said  Boston,  addressing  a  timid 
new-comer  with  infinite  scorn;  "hell  is  full  of 
such  Cliffords  ! "  He  then  introduced  the  unfortu- 
nate man,  whose  name  happened  to  be  really  Clif- 
ford, as  "  Jay-bird  Charley,"  —  an  unhallowed  inspi- 
ration of  the  moment,  that  clung  to  him  ever  after. 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER.  57 

But  to  return  to  Tennessee's  Partner,  whom  we 
never  knew  by  any  other  than  this  relative  title ; 
that  he  had  ever  existed  as  a  separate  and  distinct 
individuality  we  only  learned  later.  It  seems  that 
in  1853  he  left  Poker  Flat  to  go  to  San  Francisco, 
ostensibly  to  procure  a  wife.  He  never  got  any 
farther  than  Stockton.  At  that  place  he  was  at- 
tracted by  a  young  person  who  waited  upon  the 
table  at  the  hotel  where  he  took  his  meals.  One 
morning  he  said  something  to  her  which  caused  her 
to  smile  not  unkindly,  to  somewhat  coquettishly 
break  a  plate  of  toast  over  his  upturned,  serious, 
simple  face,  and  to  retreat  to  the  kitchen.  He  fol- 
lowed her,  and  emerged  a  few  moments  later,  cov- 
ered with  more  toast  and  victory.  That  day  week 
they  were  married  by  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  and 
returned  to  Poker  Flat.  I  am  aware  that  something 
more  might  be  made  of  this  episode,  but  I  prefer 
to  tell  it  as  it  was  current  at  Sandy  Bar,  —  in  the 
gulches  and  bar-rooms,  —  where  all  sentiment  was 
modified  by  a  strong  sense  of  humor. 

Of  their  married  felicity  but  little  is  known, 
perhaps  for  the  reason  that  Tennessee,  then  living 
with  his  partner,  one  day  took  occasion  to  say 
something  to  the  bride  on  his  own  account,  at 
which,  it  is  said,  she  smiled  not  unkindly  and 
chastely  retreated,  —  this  time  as  far  as  Marysville, 
where  Tennessee  followed  her,  and  where  they 
went  to  housekeeping  without  the  aid  of  a  Justice 

3* 


58  TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER. 

of  the  Peace.  Tennessee's  Partner  took  the  loss  of 
his  wife  simply  and  seriously,  as  was  his  fashion. 
But  to  everybody's  surprise,  when  Tennessee  one 
day  returned  from  Marysville,  without  his  partner's 
wife,  —  she  having  smiled  and  retreated  with  some- 
body else,  —  Tennessee's  Partner  was  the  first  man 
to  shake  his  hand  and  greet  him  with  affection. 
The  boys  who  had  gathered  in  the  canon  to  see 
the  shooting  were  naturally  indignant.  Their  in- 
dignation might  have  found  vent  in  sarcasm  but 
for  a  certain  look  in  Tennessee's  Partner's  eye  that 
indicated  a  lack  of  humorous  appreciation.  In 
fact,  he  was  a  grave  man,  with  a  steady  applica- 
tion to  practical  detail  which  was  unpleasant  in  a 
difficulty. 

Meanwhile  a  popular  feeling  against  Tennessee 
had  grown  up  on  the  Bar.  He  was  known  to  be  a 
gambler;  he  was  suspected  to  be  a  thief.  In 
these  suspicions  Tennessee's  Partner  was  equally 
compromised;  his  continued  intimacy  with  Ten- 
nessee after  the  affair  above  quoted  could  only  be 
accounted  for  on  the  hypothesis  of  a  copartnership 
of  crime.  At  last  Tennessee's  guilt  became  fla- 
grant. One  day  he  overtook  a  stranger  on  his  way 
to  Eed  Dog.  The  stranger  afterward  related  that 
Tennessee  beguiled  the  time  with  interesting  anec- 
dote and  reminiscence,  but  illogically  concluded 
the  interview  in  the  following  words  :  "  And  now, 
young  man,  I  '11  trouble  you  for  your  knife,  your 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER.  59 

pistols,  and  your  money.  You  see  your  weppings 
might  get  you  into  trouble  at  Eed  Dog,  and  your 
money 's  a  temptation  to  the  evilly  disposed.  I 
think  you  said  your  address  was  San  Francisco.  I 
shall  endeavor  to  call."  It  may  be  stated  here 
that  Tennessee  had  a  fine  flow  of  humor,  which 
no  business  preoccupation  could  wholly  subdue. 

This  exploit  was  his  last.  Eed  Dog  and  Sandy 
Bar  made  common  cause  against  the  highwayman. 
Tennessee  was  hunted  in  very  much  the  same  fash- 
ion as  his  prototype,  the  grizzly.  As  the  toils  closed 
around  him,  he  made  a  desperate  dash  through  the 
Bar,  emptying  his  revolver  at  the  crowd  before  the 
Arcade  Saloon,  and  so  on  up  Grizzly  Canon ;  but 
at  its  farther  extremity  he  was  stopped  by  a  small 
man  on  a  gray  horse.  The  men  looked  at  each 
other  a  moment  in  silence.  Both  were  fearless, 
both  self-possessed  and  independent;  and  both 
types  of  a  civilization  that  in  the  seventeenth 
century  would  have  been  called  heroic,  but,  in  the 
nineteenth,  simply  "  reckless."  "  What  have  you 
got  there  ?  —  I  call,"  said  Tennessee,  quietly.  "  Two 
bowers  and  an  ace,"  said  the  stranger,  as  quietly, 
showing  two  revolvers  and  a  bowie-knife.  "  That 
takes  me,"  returned  Tennessee ;  and  with  this 
gamblers'  epigram,  he  threw  away  his  useless  pis- 
tol, and  rode  back  with  his  captor. 

It  was  a  warm  night.     The  cool  breeze  which 


60  TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER. 

usually  sprang  up  with  the  going  down  of  the  sun 
behind  the  chaparral-crested,  mountain  was  that 
evening  withheld  from  Sandy  Bar.  The  little 
canon  was  stifling  with  heated  resinous  odors,  and 
the  decaying  drift-wood  on  the  Bar  sent  forth  faint, 
sickening  exhalations.  The  feverishness  of  day, 
and  its  fierce  passions,  still  filled  the  camp.  Lights 
moved  restlessly  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  strik- 
ing no  answering  reflection  from  its  tawny  current. 
Against  the  blackness  of  the  pines  the  windows 
of  the  old  loft  above  the  express-office  stood  out 
staringly  bright;  and  through  their  curtainless 
panes  the  loungers  below  could  see  the  forms  of 
those  who  were  even  then  deciding  the  fate  of 
Tennessee.  And  above  all  this,  etched  on  the 
dark  firmament,  rose  the  Sierra,  remote  and  pas- 
sionless, crowned  with  remoter  passionless  stars. 

The  trial  of  Tennessee  was  conducted  as  fairly 
as  was  consistent  with  a  judge  and  jury  who  felt 
themselves  to  some  extent  obliged  to  justify,  in 
their  verdict,  the  previous  irregularities  of  arrest 
and  indictment.  The  law  of  Sandy  Bar  was  im- 
placable, but  not  vengeful.  The  excitement  and 
personal  feeling  of  the  chase  were  over ;  with  Ten- 
nessee safe  in  their  hands  they  were  ready  to  listen 
patiently  to  any  defence,  which  they  were  already 
satisfied  was  insufficient.  There  being  no  doubt 
in  their  own  minds,  they  were  willing  to  give  the 
prisoner  the  benefit  of  any  that  might  exist.  Se- 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER.  61 

cure  in  the  hypothesis  that  he  ought  to  be  hanged, 
on  general  principles,  they  indulged  him  with  more 
latitude  of  defence  than  his  reckless  hardihood 
seemed  to  ask.  The  Judge  appeared  to  be  more 
anxious  than  the  prisoner,  who,  otherwise  uncon- 
cerned, evidently  took  a  grim  pleasure  in  the  re- 
sponsibility he  had  created.  "  I  don't  take  any 
hand  in  this  yer  game,"  had  been  his  invariable, 
but  good-humored  reply  to  all  questions.  The 
Judge  —  who  was  also  his  captor  —  for  a  moment 
vaguely  regretted  that  he  had  not  shot  him  "  on 
sight,"  that  morning,  but  presently  dismissed  this 
human  weakness  as  unworthy  of  the  judicial  mind. 
Nevertheless,  when  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door, 
and  it  was  said  that  Tennessee's  Partner  was 
there  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner,  he  was  admitted  at 
once  without  question.  Perhaps  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  jury,  to  whom  the  proceedings  were 
becoming  irksomely  thoughtful,  hailed  him  as  a 
relief. 

For  he  was  not,  certainly,  an  imposing  figure. 
Short  and  stout,  with  a  square  face,  sunburned 
into  a  preternatural  redness,  clad  in  a  loose  duck 
"jumper,"  and  trousers  streaked  and  splashed 
with  red  soil,  his  aspect  under  any  circumstances 
wTould  have  been  quaint,  and  was  now  even  ridicu- 
lous. As  he  stooped  to  deposit  at  his  feet  a  heavy 
carpet-bag  he  was  carrying,  it  became  obvious, 
from  partially  developed  legends  and  inscriptions, 


62  TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER, 

that  the  material  with  which  his  trousers  had  been 
patched  had  been  originally  intended  for  a  less 
ambitious  covering.  Yet  he  advanced  with  great 
gravity,  and  after  having  shaken  the  hand  of  each 
person  in  the  room  with  labored  cordiality,  he 
wiped  his  serious,  perplexed  face  on  a  red  bandanna 
handkerchief,  a  shade  lighter  than  his  complexion, 
laid  his  powerful  hand  upon  the  table  to  steady 
himself,  and  thus  addressed  the  Judge  :  — 

"  I  was  passin'  by,"  he  began,  by  way  of  apology, 
"  and  I  thought  I  'd  just  step  in  and  see  how  things 
was  gittin'  on  with  Tennessee  thar,  —  my  pardner. 
It 's  a  hot  night.  I  disremember  any  sich  weather 
before  on  the  Bar." 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  nobody  volunteering 
any  other  meteorological  recollection,  he  again  had 
recourse  to  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  for  some 
moments  mopped  his  face  diligently. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  in  behalf  of  the 
prisoner  ? "  said  the  Judge,  finally. 

"  Thet  's  it,"  said  Tennessee's  Partner,  in  a  tone 
of  relief.  "  I  come  yar  as  Tennessee's  pardner,  — 
knowing  him  nigh  on  four  year,  off  and  on,  wet 
and  dry,  in  luck  and  out  o'  luck.  His  ways  ain't 
allers  my. ways,  but  thar  ain't  any  p'ints  in  that 
young  man,  thar  ain't  any  liveliness  as  he  's  been  up . 
to,  as  I  don't  know.  And  you  sez  to  rue,  sez  you,  — 
confidential-like,  and  between  man  and  man,  —  sez 
you,  '  Do  you  know  anything  in  his  behalf  ? '  and  I 


TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER.  63 

sez  to  you,  sez  I,  —  confidential-like,  as  between 
man  and  man,  —  '  What  should  a  man  know  of  his 
pardner  ? '  " 

"  Is  this  all  you  have  to  say  ? "  asked  the  Judge, 
impatiently,  feeling,  perhaps,  that  a  dangerous 
sympathy  of  humor  was  beginning  to  humanize 
the  Court. 

"Thet's  so,"  continued  Tennessee's  Partner. 
"  It  ain't  for  me  to  say  anything  agin'  him.  And 
now,  what 's  the  case  ?  Here 's  Tennessee  wants 
money,  wants  it  bad,  and  does  n't  like  to  ask  it  of 
his  old  pardner.  Well,  what  does  Tennessee  do  ? 
He  lays  for  a  stranger,  and  he  fetches  that  stranger. 
And  you  lays  for  him,  and  you  fetches  him  ;  and 
the  honors  is  easy.  And  I  put  it  to  you,  bein'  a 
far-minded  man,  and  to  you,  gentlemen,  all,  as 
far-minded  men,  ef  this  is  n't  so." 

"  Prisoner,"  said  the  Judge,  interrupting,  "  have 
you  .any  questions  to  ask  this  man  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  !  "  continued  Tennessee's  Partner, 
hastily.  "  I  play  this  yer  hand  alone.  To  come 
down  to  the  bed-rock,  it 's  just  this :  Tennessee, 
thar,  has  played  it  pretty  rough  and  expensive- 
like  on  a  stranger,  and  on  this  yer  camp.  And 
now,  what 's  the  fair  thing  ?  Some  would  say 
more ;  some  would  say  less.  Here 's  seventeen 
hundred  dollars  in  coarse  gold  and  a  watch,  —  it 's 
about  all  my  pile,  —  and  call  it  square  !  "  And 
before  a  hand  could  be  raised  to  prevent  him,  he 


64  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

had  emptied  the  contents  of  the  carpet-bag  upon 
the  table. 

For  a  moment  his  life  was  in  jeopardy.  One  or 
two  men  sprang  to  their  feet,  several  hands  groped 
for  hidden  weapons,  and  a  suggestion  to  "  throw 
him  from  the  window "  was  only  overridden  by  a 
gesture  from  the  Judge.  Tennessee  laughed.  And 
apparently  oblivious  of  the  excitement,  Tennes- 
see's Partner  improved  the  opportunity  to  mop  his 
face  again  with  his  handkerchief. 

When  order  was  restored,  and  the  man  was 
made  to  understand,  by  the  use  of  forcible  figures 
and  rhetoric,  that  Tennessee's  offence  could  not  be 
condoned  by  money,  his  face  took  a  more  serious 
and  sanguinary  hue,  and  those  who  were  nearest 
to  him  noticed  that  his  rough  hand  trembled 
slightly  on  the  table.  He  hesitated  a  moment  as 
he  slowly  returned  the  gold  to  the  carpet-bag,  as 
if  he  had  not  yet  entirely  caught  the  elevated 
sense  of  justice  which  swayed  the  tribunal,  and 
was  perplexed  with  the  belief  that  he  had  not 
offered  enough.  Then  he  turned  to  the  Judge, 
and  saying,  "  This  yer  is  a  lone  hand,  played  alone, 
and  without  my  pardner,"  he  bowed  to  the  jury 
and  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  the  Judge  called 
him  back.  "  If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  Ten- 
nessee, you  had  better  say  it  now."  For  the  first 
time  that  evening  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner  and  his 
strange  advocate  met.  Tennessee  smiled,  showed 


TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER.  65 

his  white  teeth,  and,  saying,  "  Euchred,  old  man  ! " 
held  out  his  hand.  Tennessee's  Partner  took  it  in 
his  own,  and  saying,  "  I  just  dropped  in  as  I  was 
passin'  to  see  how  things  was  gettin'  on,"  let  the 
hand  passively  fall,  and  adding  that  "  it  was  a 
warm  night,"  again  mopped  his  face  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  without  another  word  withdrew. 

The  two  men  never  again  met  each  other  alive. 
For  the  unparalleled  insult  of  a  bribe  offered  to 
Judge  Lynch  —  who,  whether  bigoted,  weak,  or 
narrow,  w~as  at  least  incorruptible  —  firmly  fixed 
in  the  mind  of  that  mythical  personage  any  waver- 
ing determination  of  Tennessee's  fate ;  and  at  the 
break  of  day  he  was  marched,  closely  guarded,  to 
meet  it  at  the  top  of  Marley's  Hill. 

How  he  met  it,  how  cool  he  was,  how  he  refused 
to  say  anything,  how  perfect  were  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  committee,  were  all  duly  reported, 
with  the  addition  of  a  warning  moral  and  example 
to  all  future  evil-doers,  in  the  Eed  Dog  Clarion, 
by  its  editor,  who  was  present,  and"  to  whose 
vigorous  English  I  cheerfully  refer  the  reader. 
But  the  beauty  of  that  midsummer  morning,  the 
blessed  amity  of  earth  and  air  and  sky,  the 
awakened  life  of  the  free  woods  and  hills,  the 
joyous  renewal  and  promise  of  Nature,  and  above 
all,  the  infinite  Serenity  that  thrilled  through  each, 
was  not  reported,  as  not  being  a  part  of  the  social 
lesson.  And  yet,  when  the  weak  and  foolish  deed 

E 


66  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

was  done,  and  a  life,  with,  its  possibilities  and  re- 
sponsibilities, had  passed  out  of  the  misshapen 
thing  that  dangled  between  earth  and  sky,  the 
birds  sang,  the  flowers  bloomed,  the  sun  shone, 
as  cheerily  as  before ;  and  possibly  the  Eed  Dog 
Clarion  was  right. 

Tennessee's  Partner  was  not  in  the  group  that 
surrounded  the  ominous  tree.  But  as  they  turned 
to  disperse  attention  was  drawn  to  the  singular 
appearance  of  a  motionless  donkey-cart  halted  at 
the  side  of  the  road.  As  they  approached,  they  at 
once  recognized  the  venerable  "  Jenny  "  and  the 
two-wheeled  cart  as  the  property  of  Tennessee's 
Partner^  —  used  by  him  in  carrying  dirt  from  his 
claim ;  and  a  few  paces  distant  the  owner  of  the 
equipage  himself,  sitting  under  a  buckeye-tree, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  glowing  face.  In 
answer  to  an  inquiry,  he  said  he  had  come  for 
the  body  of  the  "  diseased,"  "  if  it  was  all  the 
same  to  the  committee."  He  did  n't  wish  to 
"  hurry  anything  "  ;  he  could  "  wait."  He  was  not 
working  that  day ;  and  when  the  gentlemen  were 
done  with  the  "diseased,"  he  would  take  him. 
"  Ef  thar  is  any  present,"  he  added,  in  his  simple, 
serious  way,  "  as  would  care  to  jine  in  the  fun'l, 
they  kin  come."  Perhaps  it  was  from  a  sense  of 
humor,  which  I  have  already  intimated  was  a 
feature  of  Sandy  Bar,  —  perhaps  it  was  from  some- 
thing even  better  than  that ;  but  two  thirds  of 
the  loungers  accepted  the  invitation  at  once. 


TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER.  67 

It  was  noon  when  the  body,  of  Tennessee  was 
delivered  into  the  hands  of  his  partner.  As  the 
cart  drew  up  to  the  fatal  tree,  we  noticed  that  it 
contained  a  rough,  oblong  box,  —  apparently  made 
from  a  section  of  sluicing,  —  and  half  filled  with 
bark  and  the  tassels  of  pine.  The  cart  was  fur- 
ther decorated  with  slips  of  willow,  and  made 
fragrant  with  buckeye-blossoms.  When  the  body 
was  deposited  in  the  box,  Tennessee's  Partner  drew 
over  it  a  piece  of  tarred  canvas,  and  gravely 
mounting  the  narrow  seat  in  front,  with  his  feet 
upon  the  shafts,  urged  the  little  donkey  forward. 
The  equipage  moved  slowly  on,  at  that  decorous 
pace  which  was  habitual  with  "  Jenny  "  even  un- 
der less  solemn  circumstances.  The  men  —  half 
curiously,  half  jestingly,  but  all  good-humoredly 
— :  strolled  along  beside  the  cart ;  some  in  advance, 
some  a  little  in  the  rear  of  the  homely  catafalque. 
But,  whether  from  the  narrowing  of  the  road  or 
some  present  sense  of  decorum,  as  the  cart  passed 
on,  the  company  fell  to  the  rear  in  couples,  keep- 
ing step,  and  otherwise  assuming  the  external  show 
of  a  formal  procession.  Jack  Folinsbee,  who  had 
at  the  outset  played  a  funeral  march  in  dumb 
show  upon  an  imaginary  trombone,  desisted,  from 
a  lack  of  sympathy  and  appreciation,  —  not  hav- 
ing, perhaps,  your  true  humorist's  capacity  to  be 
content  with  the  enjoyment  of  his  own  fun. 

The  way  led  through  Grizzly  Canon,  —  by  this 


68  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

time  clothed  in  funereal  drapery  and  shadows. 
The  redwoods,  burying  their  moccasoned  feet  in 
the  red  soil,  stood  in  Indian-file  along  the  track, 
trailing  an  uncouth  benediction  from  their  bending 
boughs  upon  the  passing  bier.  A  hare,  surprised 
into  helpless  inactivity,  sat  upright  and  pulsating 
in  the  ferns  by  the  roadside,  as  the  cortege  went 
by.  Squirrels  hastened  to  gain  a  secure  outlook 
from  higher  boughs ;  and  the  blue-jays,  spreading 
their  wings,  fluttered  before  them  like  outriders, 
until  the  outskirts  of  Sandy  Bar  were  reached, 
and  the  solitary  cabin  of  Tennessee's  Partner. 

Viewed  under  more  favorable  circumstances,  it 
would  not  have  been  a  cheerful  place.  The  un- 
picturesque  site,  the  rude  and  unlovely  outlines, 
the  unsavory  details,  which  distinguish  the  nest- 
building  of  the  California  miner,  were  all  here, 
with  the  dreariness  of  decay  superadded.  A  few 
paces  from  the  cabin  there  was  a  rough  enclosure, 
which,  in  the  brief  days  of  Tennessee's  Partner's 
matrimonial  felicity,  had  been  used  as  a  garden, 
but  was  now  overgrown  with  fern.  As  we  ap- 
proached it  we  were  surprised  to  find  that  what 
we  had  taken  for  a  recent  attempt  at  cultivation 
was  the  broken  soil  about  an  open  grave. 

The  cart  was  halted  before  the  enclosure ;  and 
rejecting  the  offers  of  assistance  with  the  same  air 
of  simple  self-reliance  he  had  displayed  through- 
out, Tennessee's  Partner  lifted  the  rough  coffin  on 


TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER.  69 

his  back,  and  deposited  it,  unaided,  within  the 
shallow  grave.  He  then  nailed  down  the  board 
which  served  as  a  lid ;  and  mounting  the  little 
mound  of  earth  beside  it,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
slowly  mopped  his  face  with  his  handkerchief. 
This  the  crowd  felt  was  a  preliminary  to  speech ; 
and  they  disposed  themselves  variously  on  stumps 
and  boulders,  and  sat  expectant. 

"When  a  man,"  began  Tennessee's  Partner, 
slowly,  "  has  been  running  free  all  day,  what 's  the 
natural  thing  for  him  to  do  ?  Why,  to  come 
home.  And  if  he  ain't  in  a  condition  to  go  home, 
what  can  his  best  friend  do  ?  Why,  bring  him 
home  !  And  here 's  Tennessee  has  been  running 
free,  and  we  brings  him  home  from  his  wander- 
ing." He  paused,  and  picked  up  a  fragment  of 
quartz,  rubbed  it  thoughtfully  on  his  sleeve,  and 
went  on  :  "  It  ain't  the  first  time  that  I  Ve  packed 
him  on  my  back,  as  you  see'd  me  now.  It  ain't 
the  first  time  that  I  brought  him  to  this  yer  cabin 
when  he  could  n't  help  himself ;  it  ain't  the  first 
time  that  I  and  '  Jinny '  have  waited  for  him  on 
yon  hill,  and  picked  him  up  and  so  fetched  him 
home,  when  he  could  n't  speak,  and  did  n't  know 
me.  And  now  that  it 's  the  last  time,  why  —  "  he 
paused,  and  rubbed  the  quartz  gently  on  his  sleeve 
— "  you  see  it 's  sort  of  rough  on  his  pardner. 
And  now,  gentlemen,"  he  added,  abruptly,  picking 
up  his  long-handled  shovel,  "  the  fun'l  's  over ; 


70  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

and  my  thanks,  and  Tennessee's  thanks,  to  you  for 
your  trouble." 

Eesisting  any  proffers  of  assistance,  he  began  to 
fill  in  the  grave,  turning  his  back  upon  the  crowd, 
that  after  a  few  moments'  hesitation  gradually 
withdrew.  As  they  crossed  the  little  ridge  that 
hid  Sandy  Bar  from  view,  some,  looking  back, 
thought  they  could  see  Tennessee's  Partner,  his 
work  done,  sitting  upon  the  grave,  his  shovel  be- 
tween his  knees,  and  his  face  buried  in  his  red 
bandanna  handkerchief.  But  it  was  argued  by 
others  that  you  could  n't  tell  his  face  from  his 
handkerchief  at  that  distance ;  and  this  point  re- 
mained undecided. 

In  the  reaction  that  followed  the  feverish  ex- 
citement of  that  day,  Tennessee's  Partner  was  not 
forgotten.  A  secret  investigation  had  cleared  him 
of  any  complicity  in  Tennessee's  guilt,  and  left 
only  a  suspicion  of  his  general  sanity.  Sandy  Bar 
made  a  point  of  calling  on  him,  and  proffering 
various  uncouth,  but  well-meant  kindnesses.  But 
from  that  day  his  rude  health  and  great  strength 
seemed  visibly  to  decline;  and  when  the  rainy 
season  fairly  set  in,  and  the  tiny  grass-blades  were 
beginning  to  peep  from  the  rocky  mound  above 
Tennessee's  grave,  he  took  to  his  bed. 

One  night,  when  the  pines  beside  the  cabin 
were  swaying  in  the  storm,  and  trailing  their 


TENNESSEE'S   PARTNER.  71 

slender  fingers  over  the  roof,  and  the  roar  and 
rush  of  the  swollen  river  were  heard  below,  Ten- 
nessee's Partner  lifted  his  head  from  the  pillow, 
saying,  "  It  is  time  to  go  for  Tennessee ;  I  must 
put  '  Jinny '  in  the  cart " ;  and  would  have  risen 
from  his  bed  but  for  the  restraint  of  his  attendant. 
Struggling,  he  still  pursued  his  singular  fancy : 
"There,  now,  steady,  'Jinny,'  —  steady,  old  girl. 
How  dark  it  is  !  Look  out  for  the  ruts,  —  and  look 
out  for  him,  too,  old  gal.  Sometimes,  you  know, 
when  he  's  blind  drunk,  he  drops  down  right  in  the 
trail.  Keep  on  straight  up  to  the  pine  on  the  top 
of  the  hill.  Thar  —  I  told  you  so  !  —  thar  he  is, 
—  coming  this  way,  too,  —  all  by  himself,  sober, 
and  his  face  a-shining.  Tennessee  !  Pardner ! " 
And  so  they  met. 


THE  IDYL  OF  BED  GULCH. 

SANDY  was  very  drunk.  He  was  lying  under 
an  azalea-bush,  in  pretty  much  the  same  atti- 
tude in  which  he  had  fallen  some  hours  before. 
How  long  he  had  been  lying  there  he  could  not 
tell,  and  did  n't  care ;  how  long  he  should  lie 
there  was  a  matter  equally  indefinite  and  un- 
considered.  A  tranquil  philosophy,  born  of  his 
physical  condition,  suffused  and  saturated  his 
moral  being. 

The  spectacle  of  a  drunken  man,  and  of  this 
drunken  man  in  particular,  was  not,  I  grieve  to 
say,  of  sufficient  novelty  in  Eed  Gulch  to  attract 
attention.  Earlier  in  the  day  some  local  satirist 
had  erected  a  temporary  tombstone  at  Sandy's 
head,  bearing  the  inscription, "  Effects  of  McCor- 
kle's  whiskey,  —  kills  at  forty  rods,"  with  a  hand 
pointing  to  McCorkle's  saloon.  But  this,  I  im- 
agine, was,  like  most  local  satire,  personal ;  and 
was  a  reflection  upon  the  unfairness  of  the  process 
rather  than  a  commentary  upon  the  impropriety 
of  the  result.  With  this  facetious  exception,  Sandy 
had  been  undisturbed.  A  wandering  mule,  released 
from  his  pack,  had  cropped  the  scant  herbage  be- 


THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH.  73 

side  him,  and  sniffed  curiously  at  the  prostrate 
man ;  a  vagabond  dog,  with  that  deep  sympathy 
which  the  species  have  for  drunken  men,  had 
licked  his  dusty  boots,  and  curled  himself  up  at 
his  feet,  and  lay  there,  blinking  one  eye  in  the 
sunlight,  with  a  simulation  of  dissipation  that  was 
ingenious  and  dog-like  in  its  implied  flattery  of 
the  unconscious  man  beside  him. 

Meanwhile  the  shadows  of  the  pine-trees  had 
slowly  swung  around  until  they  crossed  the  road, 
and  their  trunks  barred  the  open  meadow  with 
gigantic  parallels  of  black  and  yellow.  Little 
puffs  of  red  dust,  lifted  by  the  plunging  hoofs  of 
passing  teams,  dispersed  in  a  grimy  shower  upon 
the  recumbent  man.  The  sun  sank  lower  and 
lower  ;  and  still  Sandy  stirred  not.  And  then  the 
repose  of  this  philosopher  was  disturbed,  as  other 
philosophers  have  been,  by  the  intrusion  of  an 
unphilosophical  sex. 

"  Miss  Mary,"  as  she  was  known  to  the  little 
flock  that  she  had  just  dismissed  from  the  log 
school-house  beyond  the  pin'es,  was  taking  her 
afternoon  walk.  Observing  an  unusually  fine 
cluster  of  blossoms  on  the  azalea-bush  opposite, 
she  crossed  the  road  to  pluck  it,  —  picking  her  way 
through  the  red  dust,  not  without  certain  fierce  lit- 
tle shivers  of  disgust,  and  some  feline  circumlocu- 
tion. And  then  she  came  suddenly  upon  Sandy ! 

Of  course  she  uttered  the  little  staccato  cry  of 


74  THE  IDYL   OF   RED   GULCH. 

her  sex.  But  when  she  had  paid  that  tribute  to 
her  physical  weakness  she  became  overbold,  and 
halted  for  a  moment,  —  at  least  six  feet  from  this 
prostrate  monster,  —  with  her  white  skirts  gath- 
ered in  her  hand,  ready  for  flight.  But  neither 
sound  nor  motion  came  from  the  bush.  With 
one  little  foot  she  then  overturned  the  satirical 
head-board,  and  muttered  "  Beasts  ! "  —  an  epithet 
which  probably,  at  that  moment,  conveniently 
classified  in  her  mind  the  entire  male  population 
of  Bed  Gulch.  For  Miss  Mary,  being  possessed 
of  certain  rigid  notions  of  her  own,  had  not,  per- 
haps, properly  appreciated  the  demonstrative  gal- 
lantry for  which  the  Calif ornian  has  been  so  justly 
celebrated  by  his  brother  Californians,  and  had,  as 
a  new-comer,  perhaps,  fairly  earned  the  reputation 
of  being  "  stuck  up." 

As  she  stood  there  she  noticed,  also,  that  the 
slant  sunbeams  were  heating  Sandy's  head  to  what 
she  judged  to  be  an  unhealthy  temperature,  and 
that  his  hat  was  lying  uselessly  at  his  side.  To 
pick  it  up  and  to  place  it  over  his  face  was  a  work 
requiring  some  courage,  particularly  as  his  eyes 
were  open.  Yet  she  did  it  and  made  good  her  re- 
treat. But  she  was  somewhat  concerned,  on  look- 
ing back,  to  see  that  the  hat  was  removed,  and 
that  Sandy  was  sitting  up  and  saying  something. 

The  truth  was,  that  in  the  calm  depths  of  San- 
dy's mind  he  was  satisfied  that  the  rays  of  the 


THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH.  75 

sun  were  beneficial  and  healthful ;  that  from 
childhood  he  had  objected  to  lying  down  in  a 
hat ;  that  no  people  but  condemned  fools,  past  re- 
demption, ever  wore  hats ;  and  that  his  right  to 
dispense  with  them  when  he  pleased  was  inalien- 
able. This  was  the  statement  of  his  inner  con- 
sciousness. Unfortunately,  its  outward  expression 
was  vague,  being  limited  to  a  repetition  of  the 
following  formula,  —  "  Su'shine  all  ri'  !  Wasser 
ma'ar,  eh  ?  Wass  up,  su'shine  ?  " 

Miss  Mary  stopped,  and,  taking  fresh  courage, 
from  her  vantage  of  distance,  asked  him  if  there 
was  anything  that  he  wanted. 

"  Wass  up  ?  Wasser  maar  ? "  continued  Sandy, 
in  a  very  high  key. 

"  Get  up,  you  horrid  man ! "  said  Miss  Mary, 
now  thoroughly  incensed  ;  "  get  up,  and  go  home." 

Sandy  staggered  to  his  feet.  He  was  six  feet 
high,  and  Miss  Mary  trembled.  He  started  for- 
ward a  few  paces  and  then  stopped. 

"  Wass  I  go  home  for  ? "  he  suddenly  asked, 
with  great  gravity. 

"  Go  and  take  a  bath,"  replied  Miss  Mary,  eying 
his  grimy  person  with  great  disfavor. 

To  her  infinite  dismay,  Sandy  suddenly  pulled 
off  his  coat  and  vest,  threw  them  on  the  ground, 
kicked  off  his  boots,  and,  plunging  wildly  forward, 
darted  headlong  over  the  hill,  in  the  direction  of 
the  river. 


76  THE  IDYL   OF  BED   GULCH. 

"  Goodness  Heavens  !  —  the  man  will  be 
drowned  ! "  said  Miss  Mary  ;  ancl  then,  with  femi- 
nine inconsistency,  she  ra.n  back  to  the  school- 
house,  and  locked  herself  in. 

That  night,  while  seated  at  supper  with  her 
hostess,  the  blacksmith's  wife,  it  came  to  Miss 
Mary  to  ask,  demurely,  if  her  husband  ever  got 
drunk.  "Abner,"  responded  Mrs.  Stidger,  re- 
flectively, "  let 's  see  :  Abner  has  n't  been  tight 
since  last  lection."  Miss  Mary  would  have  liked 
to  ask  if  he  preferred  lying  in  the  sun  on  these 
occasions,  and  if  a  cold  bath  would  have  hurt  him ; 
but  this  would  have  involved  an  explanation, 
which  she  did  not  then  care  to  give.  So  she  con- 
tented herself  with  opening  her  gray  eyes  widely 
at  the  red-cheeked  Mrs.  Stidger,  —  a  fine  speci- 
men of  Southwestern  efflorescence,  —  and  then  dis- 
missed the  subject  altogether.  The  next  day  she 
wrote  to  her  dearest  friend,  in  Boston :  "  I  think 
I  find  the  intoxicated  portion  of  this  community 
the  least  objectionable.  I  refer,  my  dear,  to  the 
men,  of  course.  I  do  not  know  anything  that 
could  make  the  women  tolerable."  , 

In  less  than  a  week  Miss  Mary  had  forgotten  j 
this  episode,  except  that  her  afternoon  walks  took 
thereafter,  almost  unconsciously,  another  direc- 
tion. She  noticed,  however,  that  every  morn- 
ing a  fresh  cluster  of  azalea-blossoms  appeared 
among  the  flowers  on  her  desk.  This  was  not 


THE  IDYL  OF  BED  GULCH.  77 

strange,  as  her  little  flock  were  aware  of  her  fond- 
ness for  flowers,  and  invariably  kept  her  desk 
bright  with  anemones,  syringas,  and  lupines ;  but, 
on  questioning  them,  they,  one  and  all,  professed 
ignorance  of  the  azaleas.  A  few  days  later,  Mas- 
ter Johnny  Stidger,  whose  desk  was  nearest  to 
the  window,  was  suddenly  taken  with  spasms 
of  apparently  gratuitous  laughter,  that  threatened 
the  discipline  of  the  school.  All  that  Miss  Mary 
could  get  from  him  was,  that  some  one  had  been 
"  looking  in  the  winder."  Irate  and  indignant,  she 
sallied  from  her  hive  to  do  battle  with  the  intrud- 
er. As  she  turned  the  corner  of  the  school-house 
she  came  plump  upon  the  quondam  drunkard,  — 
now  perfectly  sober,  and  inexpressibly  sheepish 
and  guilty-looking. 

These  facts  Miss  Mary  was  not  slow  to  take  a 
feminine  advantage  of,  in  her  present  humor.  But 
it  was  somewhat  confusing  to  observe,  also,  that 
the  beast,  despite  some  faint  signs  of  past  dissi- 
pation, was  amiable-looking,  —  in  fact,  a  kind  of 
blond  Samson,  whose  corn-colored,  silken  beard 
apparently  had  never  yet  known  the  touch  of  bar- 
ber's razor  or  Delilah's  shears.  So  that  the  cut- 
ting speech  which  quivered  on  her  ready  tongue 
died  upon  her  lips,  and  she  contented  herself  with 
receiving  his  stammering  apology  with  supercili- 
ous eyelids  and  the  gathered  skirts  of  uncontarn- 
ination.  When  she  re-entered  the  school-room, 


78  THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH. 

her  eyes  fell  upon  the  azaleas  with  a  new  sense  of 
revelation.  And  then  she  laughed,  and  the  lit- 
tle people  all  laughed,  and  they  were  all  uncon- 
sciously very  happy.. 

It  was  on  a  hot  day  —  and  not  long  after  this  — 
that  two  short-legged  boys  came  to  grief  on  the 
threshold  of  the  school  with  a  pail  of  water,  which 
they  had  laboriously  brought  from  the  spring,  and 
that  Miss  Mary  compassionately  seized  the  pail 
and  started  for  the  spring  herself.  At  the  foot  of 
the  hill  a  shadow  crossed  her  path,  and  a  blue- 
shirted  arm  dexterously,  but  gently  relieved  her 
of  her  burden.  Miss  Mary  was  both  embarrassed 
and  angry.  "  If  you  carried  more  of  that  for  your- 
self," she  said,  spitefully,  to  the  blue  arm,  without 
deigning  to  raise  her  lashes  to  its  owner,  "  you  'd 
do  better."  In  the  submissive  silence  that  fol- 
lowed she  regretted  the  speech,  and  thanked  him 
so  sweetly  at  the  door  that  he  stumbled.  Which 
caused  the  children  to  laugh  again,  —  a  laugh  in 
which  Miss  Mary  joined,  until  the  color  came 
faintly  into  her  pale  cheek.  The  next  day  a  bar- 
rel was  mysteriously  placed  beside  the  door,  and 
as  mysteriously  filled  with  fresh  spring-water 
every  morning. 

Nor  was  this  superior  young  person  without 
other  quiet  attentions.  "  Profane  Bill,"  driver  of 
the  Slumgullion  Stage,  widely  known  in  the 
newspapers  for  his  "gallantry"  in  invariably  of- 


THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH.  79 

fering  the  box-seat  to  the  fair  sex,  had  excepted 
Miss  Mary  from  this  attention,  on  the  ground  that 
he  had  a  habit  of  "  cussin'  on  up  grades,"  and  gave 
her  half  the  coach  to  herself.  Jack  Hamlin,  a 
gambler,  having  once  silently  ridden  with  her  in 
the  same  coach,  afterward  threw  a  decanter  at  the 
head  of  a  confederate  for  mentioning  her  name  in 
a  bar-room.  The  over-dressed  mother  of  a  pupil 
whose  paternity  was  doubtful  had  often  lingered 
near  this  astute  Vestal's  temple,  never  daring  to 
enter  its  sacred  precincts,  but  content  to  worship 
the  priestess  from  afar. . 

With  such  unconscious  intervals  the  monoto- 
nous procession  of  blue  skies,  glittering  sunshine, 
brief  twilights,  and  starlit  nights  passed  over  Eed 
Gulch.  Miss  Mary  grew  fond  of  walking  in  the 
sedate  and  proper  woods.  Perhaps  she  believed, 
with  Mrs.  Stidger,  that  the  balsamic  odors  of  the 
firs  "  did  her  chest  good,"  for  certainly  her  slight 
cough  was  less  frequent  and  her  step  was  firmer ; 
perhaps  she  had  learned  the  unending  lesson  which 
the  patient  pines  are  never  weary  of  repeating  to 
heedful  or  listless  ears.  '  And  so,  one  day,  she 
planned  a  picnic  on  Buckeye  Hill,  and  took  the 
children  with  her.  Away  from  the  dusty  road, 
the  straggling  shanties,  the  yellow  ditches,  the 
clamor  of  restless  engines,  the  cheap  finery  of  shop- 
windows,  the«deeper  glitter  of  paint  and  colored 
glass,  and  the  thin  veneering  which  barbarism 


80  THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH. 

takes  upon  itself  in  such  localities,  —  what  infinite 
relief  was  theirs !  The  last  heap  of  ragged  rock 
and  clay  passed,  the  last  unsightly  chasm  crossed, 
—  how  the  waiting  woods  opened  their  long 
files  to  receive  them  !  How  the  children  —  per- 
haps because  they  had  not  yet  grown  quite  away 
from  the  breast  of  the  bounteous  Mother  —  threw 
themselves  face  downward  on  her  brown  bosom 
with  uncouth  caresses,  filling  the  air  with  their 
laughter;  and  how  Miss  Mary  herself  —  felinely 
fastidious  and  intrenched  as  she  was  in  the  purity 
of  spotless  skirts,  collar,  and-  cuffs  —  forgot  all,  and 
ran  like  a  crested  quail  at  the  head  of  her  brood, 
until,  romping,  laughing,  and  panting,  with  a 
loosened  braid  of  brown  hair,  a  hat  hanging  by  a 
knotted  ribbon  from  her  throat,  she  came  suddenly 
and  violently,  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  upon  — 
the  luckless  Sandy ! 

The  explanations,  apologies,  and  not  overwise 
conversation  that  ensued,  need  not  be  indicated 
here.  It  would  seem,  however,  that  Miss  Mary- 
had  already  established  some  acquaintance  with 
this  ex-dnmkard.  Enough  that  he  was  soon  ac- 
cepted as  one  of  the  party  ;  that  the  children,  with 
that  quick  intelligence  which  Providence  gives  the 
helpless,  recognized  a  friend,  and  played  with  his 
blond  beard,  and  long  silken  mustache,  and  took 
other  liberties,  —  as  the  helpless  are  apt  to  do. 
And  when  he  had  built  a  fire  against  a  tree,  and 


THE  IDYL   OF   RED   GULCH.  81 

had  shown  them  other  mysteries  of  wood-craft, 
their  admiration  knew  no  bounds.  At  the  close 
of  two  such  foolish,  idle,  happy  hours  he  found 
himself '  lying  at  the  feet  of  the  schoolmistress, 
gazing  dreamily  in  her  face,  as  she  sat  upon  the 
sloping  hillside,  weaving  wreaths  of  laurel  and 
syringa,  in  very  much  the  same  attitude  as  he 
had  lain  w^hen  first  they  met.  Nor  was  the  simili- 
tude greatly  forced.  The  weakness  of  an  easy, 
sensuous  nature,  that  had  found  a  dreamy  exalta- 
tion in  liquor,  it  is  to  be  feared  was  now  finding 
an  equal  intoxication  in  love. 

I  think  that  Sandy  was  dimly  conscious  of  this 
himself.  I  know  that  he  longed  to  be  doing  some- 
thing,—  slaying  a  grizzly,  scalping  a  savage,  or 
sacrificing  himself  in  some  way  for  the  sake  of 
this  sallow-faced,  gray-eyed  schoolmistress.  As  I 
should  like  to  present  him  in  a  heroic  attitude,  I 
stay  my  hand  with  great  difficulty  at  this  moment, 
being  only  withheld  from  introducing  such  an 
episode  by  a  strong  conviction  that  it  does  not 
usually  occur  at  such  times.  And  I  trust  that  my 
fairest  reader,  who  remembers  that,  in  a  real  crisis, 
it  is  always  some  uninteresting  stranger  or  unro- 
mantic  policeman,  and  not  Adolphus,  who  rescues, 
will  forgive  the  omission. 

So  they  sat  there,  undisturbed,  —  the  woodpeck- 
ers chattering  overhead,  and  the  voices  of  the  chil- 
dren coming  pleasantly  from  the  hollow  below. 

4*  F 


82  THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH. 

What  they  said  matters  little.  What  they,  thought 
—  which  might  have  been  interesting  —  did  not 
transpire.  The  woodpeckers  only  learned  how 
Miss  Mary  was  an  orphan ;  how  she  left  her 
uncle's  house,  to  come  to  California,  for  the  sake 
of  health  and  independence ;  how  Sandy  was  an 
orphan,  too  ;  how  he  came  to  California  for  excite- 
ment ;  how  he  had  lived  a  wild  life,  and  how  he 
was  trying  to  reform;  and  other  details,  which, 
from  a  woodpecker's  view-point,  undoubtedly  must 
have  seemed  stupid,  and  a  waste  of  time.  But 
even  in  such  trifles  was  the  afternoon  spent ;  and 
when  the  children  were  again  gathered,  and  Sandy, 
with  a  delicacy  which  the  schoolmistress  well  un- 
derstood, took  leave  of  them  quietly  at  the  out- 
skirts of  the  settlement,  it  had  seemed  the  shortest 
day  of  her  weary  life. 

As  the  long,  dry  summer  withered  to  its  roots, 
the  school  term  of  Eed  Gulch  —  to  use  a  local 
euphuism  —  "dried  up"  also.  In  another  day 
Miss  Mary  would  be  free ;  and  for  a  season,  at 
least,  Eed  Gulch  would  know  her  no  more.  She 
was  seated  alone  in  the  school-house,  her  cheek 
resting  on  her  hand,  her  eyes  half  closed  in  one 
of  those  day-dreams  in  which  Miss  Mary  —  I  fear, 
to  the  danger  of  school  discipline  —  was  lately  in 
the  habit  of  indulging.  Her  lap  was  full  of 
mosses,  ferns,  and  other  woodland  memories.  She 
was  so  preoccupied  with  these  and  her  own 


THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH.  83 

thoughts  that  a  gentle  tapping  at  the  door  passed 
unheard,  or  translated  itself  into  the  remembrance 
of  far-off  woodpeckers.  When  at  last  it  asserted 
itself  more  distinctly,  she  started  up  with  a  flushed 
cheek  and  opened  the  door.  On  the  threshold 
stood  a  woman,  the  self-assertion  and  audacity  of 
whose  dress  were  in  singular  contrast  to  her  timid, 
irresolute  bearing. 

Miss  Mary  recognized  at  a  glance  the  dubious 
mother  of  her  anonymous  pupil.  Perhaps  she  was 
disappointed,  perhaps  she  was  only  fastidious ;  but 
as  she  coldly  invited  her  to  enter,  she  half  un- 
consciously settled  her  white  cuffs  and  collar,  and 
gathered  closer  her  own  chaste  skirts.  It  was, 
perhaps,  for  this  reason  that  the  embarrassed 
stranger,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  left  her  gor- 
geous parasol  open  and  sticking  in  the  dust  beside 
the  door,  and  then  sat  down  at  the  farther  end 
of  a  long  bench.  Her  voice  was  husky  as  she 
began :  — 

"  I  heerd  tell  that  you  were  goin'  down  to  the 
Bay  to-morrow,  and  I  could  n't  let  you  go  until 
I  came  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  my 
Tommy." 

Tommy,  Miss  Mary  said,  was  a  good  boy,  and 
deserved  more  than  the  poor  attention  she  could 
give  him. 

"  Thank  you,  miss  ;  thank  ye  !"  cried  the  stran- 
ger, brightening  even  through  the  color  which 


84  THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH. 

Red  Gulch  knew  facetiously  as  her  "  war  paint," 
and  striving,  in  her  embarrassment,  to  drag  the 
long  bench  nearer  the  schoolmistress.  "I  thank 
you,  miss,  for  that !  and  if  I  am  his  mother,  there 
ain't  a  sweeter,  dearer,  better  boy  lives  than  him. 
And  if  I  ain't  much  as  says  it,  thar  ain't  a  sweeter, 
dearer,  angeler  teacher  lives  than  he  's  got." 

Miss  Mary,  sitting  primly  behind  her  desk,  with 
a  ruler  over  her  shoulder,  opened  her  gray  eyes 
widely  at  this,  but  said  nothing. 

"  It  ain't  for  you  to  be  complimented  by  the  like 
of  me,  I  know,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly.  "  It 
ain't  for  me  to  be  comin'  here,  in  broad  day,  to 
do  it,  either ;  but  I  come  to  ask  a  favor,  —  not 
for  me,  miss,  —  not  for  me,  but  for  the  darling 
boy." 

Encouraged  by  a  look  in  the  young  schoolmis- 
tress's eye,  and  putting  her  lilac-gloved  hands  to- 
gether, the  fingers  downward,  between  her  knees, 
she  went  on,  in  a  low  voice  :  — 

"  You  see,  miss,  there  's  no  one  the  boy  has  any 
claim  on  but  me,  and  I  ain't  the  proper  person  to 
bring  him  up.  I  thought  some,  last  year,  of  send- 
ing him  away  to  'Frisco  to  school,  but  when  they 
talked  of  bringing  a  schoolma'am  here,  I  waited 
.till  I  saw  you,  and  then  I  knew  it  was  all  right, 
and  I  could  keep  my  boy  a  little  longer.  And  0, 
miss,  he  loves  you  so  much ;  and  if  you  could 
hear  him  talk  about  you,  in  his  pretty  way,  and  if 


THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH.  85 

he  could  ask  you  what  I  ask  you  now,  you  could  n't 
refuse  him. 

"  It  is  natural,"  she  went  on,  rapidly,  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  strangely  between  pride  and  humil- 
ity, — "  it 's  natural  that  he  should  take  to  you, 
miss,  for  his  father,  when  I  first  knew  him,  was  a 
gentleman,  —  and  the  boy  must  forget  me,  sooner 
or  later,  —  and  so  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  cry  about  that. 
For  I  come  to  ask  you  to  take  my  Tommy,  —  God 
bless  him  for  the  bestest,  sweetest  boy  that  lives,  — 
to  —  to  —  take  him  with  you." 

She  had  risen  and  caught  the  young  girl's  hand 
in  her  own,  and  had  fallen  on  her  knees  beside  her. 

"  I  've  money  plenty,  and  it 's  all  yours  and  his. 
Put  him  in  some  good  school,  where  you  can  go 
and  see  him,  and  help  him  to  —  to  —  to  forget  his 
mother.  Do  with  him  what  you  like.  The  worst 
you  can  do  will  be  kindness  to  what  he  will  learn 
with  me.  Only  take  him  out  of  this  wicked 
life,  this  cruel  place,  this  home  of  shame  and  sor- 
row. You  will;  I  know  you  will,  —  won't  you? 
You  will,  —  you  must  not,  you  cannot  say  no ! 
You  will  make  him  as  pure,  as  gentle  as  yourself; 
and  when  he  has  grown  up,  you  will  tell  him  his 
father's  name,  —  the  name  that  has  n't  passed  my 
lips  for  years,  —  the  name  of  Alexander  Morton, 
whom  they  call  here  Sandy  !  Miss  Mary  !  —  do 
not  take  your  hand  away !  Miss  Mary,  speak  to 
me !  You  will  take  my  boy  ?  Do  not  put  your 


86  THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH. 

face  from  me.  I  know  it  ought  not  to  look  on  such 
as  me.  Miss  Mary  !  —  my  God,  be  merciful !  — 
she  is  leaving  me  ! " 

Miss  Mary  had  risen,  and,  in  the  gathering  twi- 
light, had  felt  her  way  to  the  open  window.  She 
stood  there,  leaning  against  the  casement,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  last  rosy  tints  that  were  fading  from 
the  western  sky.  There  was  still  some  of  its  light 
on  her  pure  young  forehead,  on  her  white  collar, 
on  her  clasped  white  hands,  but  all  fading  slowly 
away.  The  suppliant  had  dragged  herself,  still  on 
her  knees,  beside  her. 

"  I  know  it  takes  time  to  consider.  I  will  wait 
here  all  night ;  but  I  cannot  go  until  you  speak. 
Do  not  deny  me  now.  You  will !  —  I  see  it  in 
your  sweet  face,  —  such  a  face  as  I  have  seen  in 
my  dreams.  I  see  it  in  your  eyes,  Miss  Mary  !  — 
you  will  take  my  boy  ! " 

The  last  red  beam  crept  higher,  suffused  Miss 
Mary's  eyes  with  something  of  its  glory,  flickered, 
and  faded,  and  went  out.  The  sun  had  set  on  Eed 
Gulch.  In  the  twilight  and  silence  Miss  Mary's 
voice  sounded  pleasantly. 

"  I  will  take  the  boy.  Send  him  to  .me  to- 
night." 

The  happy  mother  raised  the  hem  of  Miss  Ma- 
ry's skirts  to  her  lips.  She  would  have  buried  her 
hot  face  in  its  virgin  folds,  but  she  dared  not. 
She  rose  to  her  feet. 


THE  IDYL   OF  RED   GULCH.  87 

"  Does  —  this  man  —  know  of  your  intention  ? " 
asked  Miss  Mary,  suddenly. 

"  No,  nor  cares.  He  has  never  even  seen  the 
child  to  know  it." 

"  Go  to  him  at  once,  —  to-night,  —  now  !  Tell 
him  what  you  have  done.  Tell  him  I  have  taken 
his  child,  and  tell  him  —  he  must  never  see  —  see 

—  the  child  again.     Wherever  it  may  be,  he  must 
not  come ;  wherever  I  may  take  it,  he  must  not 
follow  !     There,  go  now,  please,  —  I  'm  weary,  and 

—  have  much  yet  to  do  !  " 

They  walked  together  to  the  door.  On  the 
threshold  the  woman  turned. 

"  Good  night." 

She  would  have  fallen  at  Miss  Mary's  feet.  But 
at  the  same  moment  the  young  girl  reached  out 
her  arms,  caught  the  sinful  woman  to  her  own  pure 
breast  for  one  brief  moment,  and  then  closed  and 
locked  the  door. 

It  was  with  a  sudden  sense  of  great  responsi- 
bility that  Profane  Bill  took  the  reins  of  the^  Slum- 
gullion  Stage  the  next»  morning,  for  the  school- 
mistress was  one  of  his  passengers.  As  he  en- 
tered the  high-road,  in  obedience  to  a  pleasant 
voice  from  the  "inside,"  he  suddenly  reined  up 
his  horses  and  respectfully  waited,  as  "  Tommy " 
hopped  out  at  the  command  of  Miss  Mary. 

"  Not  that  bush,  Tommy,  —  the  next." 


88  THE  IDYL   OF  BED   GULCH. 

Tommy  whipped  out  his  new  pocket-knife,  and, 
cutting  a  branch  from  a  tall  azalea-bush,  returned 
with  it  to  Miss  Mary. 

"  All  right  now  ? " 

"All  right." 

And  the  stage-door  closed  on  the  Idyl  of  Eed 
Gulch. 


HIGH-WATER  MAEK. 

WHEN"  the  tide  was  out  on  the  Dedlow 
Marsh,  its  extended  dreariness  was  patent. 
Its  spongy,  low-lying  surface,  sluggish,  inky  pools, 
and  tortuous  sloughs,  twisting  their  slimy  way,  eel- 
like,  toward  the  open  bay,  were  all  hard  facts.  So 
were  the  few  green  tussocks,  with  their  scant 
blades,  their  amphibious  flavor,  and  unpleasant 
dampness.  And  if  you  choose  to  indulge  your 
fancy,  — although  the  flat  monotony  of  the  Ded- 
low Marsh  was  not  inspiring,  —  the  wavy  line  of 
scattered  drift  gave  an  unpleasant  consciousness 
of  the  spent  waters,  and  made  the  dead  certainty 
of  the  returning  tide  a  gloomy  reflection,  which  no 
present  sunshine  could  dissipate.  The  greener 
meadow-land  seemed  oppressed  with  this  idea,  and 
mads  no  positive  attempt  at  vegetation  until  the 
work  of  reclamation  should  be  complete.  In  the 
bitter  fruit  of  the  low  cranberry-bushes  one  might 
fancy  he  detected  a  naturally  sweet  disposition 
curdled  and  soured  by  an  injudicious  course  of  too 
much  regular  cold  water. 

The  vocal  expression  of  the  Dedlow  Marsh  was 
also  melancholy  and  depressing.     The  sepulchral 


90  HIGH-WATER  MARK. 

boom  of  the  bittern,  the  shriek  of  the  curlew,  the 
scream  of  passing  brent,  the  wrangling  of  quarrel- 
some teal,  the  sharp,  querulous  protest  of  the 
startled  crane,  and  syllabled  complaint  of  the 
"  killdeer  "  plover  were  beyond  the  power  of  writ- 
ten expression.  Nor  was  the  aspect  of  these 
mournful  fowls  at  all  cheerful  and  inspiring.  Cer- 
tainly not  the  blue  peron  standing  midleg  deep 
in  the  water,  obviously  catching  cold  in  a  reckless 
disregard  of  wet  feet  and  consequences  ;  nor  the 
mournful  curlew,  the  dejected  plover,  or  the  low- 
spirited  snipe,  who  saw  fit  to  join  him  in  his 
suicidal  contemplation ;  nor  the  impassive  king- 
fisher —  an  ornithological  Marius  —  reviewing  the 
desolate  expanse  ;  nor  the  black  raven  that  went 
to  and  fro  over  the  face  of  the  marsh  continu- 
ally, but  evidently  could  n't  make  up  his  mind 
whether  the  waters  had  subsided,  and  felt  low- 
spirited  in  the  reflection  that,  after  all  this  trouble, 
he  would  n't  be  able  to  give  a  definite  answer. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was  evident  at  a  glance  that 
the  dreary  expanse  of  Dedlow  Marsh  told  un- 
pleasantly on  the  birds,  and  that  the  season  of 
migration  was  looked  forward  to  with  a  feeling  of 
relief  and  satisfaction  by  the  full-grown,  and  of 
extravagant  anticipation  by  the  callow,  brood.  But 
if  Dedlow  Marsh  was  cheerless  at  the  slack  of  the 
low  tide,  you  should  have  seen  it  when  the  tide 
was  strong  and  full.  When  the  damp  air  blew 


HIGH- WATER  MARK.  91 

chilly  over  the  cold,  glittering  expanse.,  and  came 
to  the  faces  of  those  who  looked  seaward  like 
another  tide ;  when  a  steel-like  glint  marked  the 
low  hollows  and  the  sinuous  line  of  slough ;  when 
the  great  shell-incrusted  trunks  of  fallen  trees 
arose  again,  and  went  forth  on  their  dreary,  pur- 
poseless wanderings,  drifting  hither  and  thither, 
but  getting  no  farther  toward  any  goal  at  the  fall- 
ing tide  or  the  day's  decline  than  the  cursed  He- 
brew in  the  legend ;  when  the  glossy  ducks  swung 
silently,  making  neither  ripple  nor  furrow  on  the 
shimmering  surface ;  when  the  fog  came  in  with 
the  tide  and  shut  out  the  blue  above,  even  as  the 
green  below  had  been  obliterated ;  when  boatmen, 
lost  in  that  fog,  paddling  about  in  a  hopeless  way, 
started  at  what  seemed  the  brushing  of  mermen's 
fingers  on  the  boat's  keel,  or  shrank  from  the  tufts 
of  grass  spreading  around  like  the  floating  hair  of 
a  corpse,  and  knew  by  these  signs  that  they  were 
lost  upon  Dedlow  Marsh,  and  must  make  a  night 
of  it,  and  a  gloomy  one  at  that,  —  then  you  might 
know  something  of  Dedlow  Marsh  at  high  water. 
Let  me  recall  a  story  connected  with  this  latter 
view  which  never  failed  to  recur  to  my%mind  in 
my  long  gunning  excursions  upon  Dedlow  Marsh. 
Although  the  event  was  briefly  recorded  in  the 
county  paper,  I  had  the  story,  in  all  its  eloquent 
detail,  from  the  lips  of  the  principal  actor.  I  can- 
not hope  to  catch  the  varying  emphasis  and  pecu- 


92  HIGH-WATER  MARK. 

liar  coloring  of  feminine  delineation,  for  my  nar- 
rator was  a  woman ;  but  I  '11  try  to  give  at  least 
its  substance. 

She  lived  midway  of  the  great  slough  of  Ded- 
low  Marsh  and  a  good-sized  river,  which  de- 
bouched four  miles  beyond  into  an  estuary  formed 
by  the  Pacific  Ocean,  on  the  long  sandy  penin- 
sula which  constituted  the  southwestern  boundary 
of  a  noble  bay.  The  house  in  which  she  lived 
was  a  small  frame  cabin  raised  from  the  marsh 
a  few  feet  by  stout  piles,  and  was  three  miles  dis- 
tant from  the  settlements  upon  the  river.  Her 
husband  was  a  logger,  —  a  profitable  business  in 
a  county  where  the  principal  occupation  was  the 
manufacture  of  lumber. 

It  was  the  season  of  early  spring,  when  her  hus- 
band left  on  the  ebb  of  a  high  tide,  with  a  raft  of 
logs  for  the  usual  transportation  to  the  lower  end 
of  the  bay.  As  she  stood  by  the  door  of  the  lit- 
tle cabin  when  the  voyagers  departed  she  noticed 
a  cold  look  in  the  southeastern  sky,  and  she  re- 
membered hearing  her  husband  say  to  his  com- 
panions that  they  must  endeavor  to  complete 
their  voyage  before  the  coming  of  the  southwest- 
erly gale  which  he  saw  brewing.  And  that  night 
it  began  to  storm  and  blow  harder  than  she  had 
ever  before  experienced,  and  some  great  trees  fell 
in  -the  forest  by  the  river,  and  the  house  rocked 
like  her  baby's  cradle. 


HIGH-WATER  MARK.  93 

But  however  the  storm  might  roar  about  the 
little  cabin,  she  knew  that  one  she  trusted  had 
driven  bolt  and  bar  with  his  own  strong  hand, 
and  that  had  he  feared  for  her  he  would  not 
have  left  her.  This,  and  her  domestic  duties,  and 
the  care  of  her  little  sickly  baby,  helped  to  keep 
her  mind  from  dwelling  on  the  weather,  except,  of 
course,  to  hope  that  he  was  safely  harbored  with 
the  logs  at  Utopia  in  the  dreary  distance.  But 
she  noticed  that  day,  when  she  went  out  to  feed 
the  chickens  and  look  after  the  cow,  that  the 
tide  was  up  to  the  little  fence  of  their  garden- 
patch,  and  the  roar  of  the  surf  on  the  south 
beach,  though  miles  away,  she  could  hear  dis- 
tinctly. And  she  began  to  think  that  she  would 
like  to  have  some  one  to  talk  with  about  mat- 
ters, and  she  believed  that  if  it  had  not  been  so 
far  and  so  stormy,  and  the  trail  so  impassable, 
she  would  have  taken  the  baby  and  have  gone 
over  to  Byckman's,  her  nearest  neighbor.  But 
then,  you  see,  he  might  have  returned  in  the 
storm,  all  wet,  with  no  one  to  see  to  him ;  and  it 
was  a  long  exposure  for  baby,  who  was  croupy 
and  ailing. 

But  that  night,  she  never  could  tell  why,  she 
did  n't  feel  like  sleeping  or  even  lying  down.  The 
storm  had  somewhat  abated,  but  she  still  "  sat  and 
sat,"  and  even  tried  to  read.  I  don't  know  whether 
it  was  a  Bible  or  some  profane  magazine  that  this 


94  HIGH-WATER  MARK. 

poor  woman  read,  but  most  probably  the  latter,  for 
the  words  all  ran  together  and  made  such  sad  non- 
sense that  she  was  forced  at  last  to  put  the  book 
down  and  turn  to  that  dearer  volume  which  lay 
before  her  in  the  cradle,  with  its  white  initial  leaf 
as  yet  unsoiled,  and  try  to  look  forward  to  its  mys- 
terious future.  And,  rocking  the  cradle,  she  thought 
of  everything  and  everybody,  but  still  was  wide 
awake  as  ever. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  she  at  last 
laid  down  in  her  clothes.  How  long  she  slept  she 
could  not  remember,  but  she  awroke  with  a  dread- 
ful choking  in  her  throat,  and  found  herself  stand- 
ing, trembling  all  over,  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
with  her  baby  clasped  to  her  breast,  and  she  was 
"  saying  something."  The  baby  cried  and  sobbed, 
and  she  walked  up  and  down  trying  to  hush  it, 
when  she  heard  a  scratching  at  the  door.  She 
opened  it  fearfully,  and  was  glad  to  see  it  was 
only  old  Pete,  their  dog,  who  crawled,  dripping 
with  water,  into  the  room.  She  would  like  to 
have  looked  out,  not  in  the  faint  hope  of  her  hus- 
band's coming,  but  to  see  how  things  looked ;  but 
the  wind  shook  the  door  so  savagely  that  she  could 
hardly  hold  it.  Then  she  sat  down  a  little  while, 
and  then  walked  up  and  down  a  little  while,  and 
then  she  lay  down  again  a  little  while.  Lying 
close  by  the  wall  of  the  little  cabin,  she  thought 
she  heard  once  or  twice  something  scrape  slowly 


HIGH-WATER  MARK.  95 

against  the  clapboards,  like  the  scraping  of  branches. 
Then  there  was  a  little  gurgling  sound,  "like  the 
baby  made  when  it  was  swallowing  "  ;  then  some- 
thing went  "  click-click "  and  "  cluck-cluck,"  so 
that  she  sat  up  in  bed.  When  she  did  so  she  was 
attracted  by  something  else  that  seemed  creeping 
from  the  back  door  towards  the  centre  of  the  room. 
It  was  n't  much  wider  than  her  little  finger,  but 
soon  it  swelled  to  the  width  of  her  hand,  and  be- 
gan spreading  all  over  the  floor.  It  was  water. 

She  ran  to  the  front  door  and  threw  it  wide 
open,  and  saw  nothing  but  water.  She  ran  to  the 
back  door  and  threw  it  open,  and  saw  nothing'but 
water.  She  ran  to  the  side  window,  and,  throwing 
that  open,  she  saw  nothing  but  water.  Then  she 
remembered  hearing  her  husband  once  say  that 
there  was  no  danger  in  the  tide,  for  that  fell  regu- 
larly, and  people  could  calculate  on  it,  and  that  he 
would  rather  live  near  the  bay  than  the  river, 
whose  banks  might  overflow  at  any  time.  But 
was  it  the  tide  ?  So  she  ran  again  to  the  back 
door,  and  threw  out  a  stick  of  wood.  It  drifted 
away  towards  the  bay.  She  scooped  up  some  of 
the  water  and  put  it  eagerly  to  her  lips.  It  was 
fresh  and  sweet.  It  was  the  river,  and  not  the 
tide! 

It  was  then  —  0,  God  be  praised  for  his  good- 
ness !  she  did  neither  faint  nor  fall ;  it  was  then  — 
blessed  be  the  Saviour  for  it  was  his  merciful 


96  HIGH- WATER  MARK. 

hand  that  touched  and  strengthened  her  in  this 
awful  moment  —  that  fear  dropped  from  her  like 
a  garment,  and  her  trembling  ceased.  It  was  then 
and  thereafter  that  she  never  lost  her  self-com- 
mand, through  all  the  trials  of  that  gloomy  night. 
She  drew  the  bedstead  towards  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  placed  a  table  upon  it  and  on  that 
she  put  the  cradle.  The  water  on  the  floor  was 
already  over  her  ankles,  and  the  house  once  or 
twice  moved  so  perceptibly,  and  seemed  to  be 
racked  so,  that  the  closet  doors  all  flew  open. 
Then  she  heard  the  same  rasping  and  thumping 
against  the  wall,  and,  looking  out,  saw  that  a  large 
uprooted  tree,  which  had  lain  near  the  road  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  pasture,  had  floated  down  to  the 
house.  Luckily  its  long  roots  dragged  in  the  soil 
and  kept  it  from  moving  as  rapidly  as  the  current, 
for  had  it  struck  the  house  in  its  full  career,  even 
the  strong  nails  and  bolts  in  the  piles  could  not 
have  withstood  the  shock.  The  hound  had  leaped 
upon  its  knotty  surface,  and  crouched  near  the 
roots  shivering  and  whining.  A  ray  of  hope 
flashed  across  her  mind.  She  drew  a  heavy 
blanket  from  the  bed,  and,  wrapping  it  about  the 
babe,  waded  in  the  deepening  waters  to  the  door. 
As  the  tree  swung  again,  broadside  on,  making  the 
little  cabin  creak  and  tremble,  she  leaped  on  to  its 
trunk.  By  God's  mercy  she  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing a  footing  on  its  slippery  surface,  and,  twining 


HIGH- WATER  MARK.  97 

an  arm  about  its  roots,  she  held  in  the  other  her 
moaning  child.  Then  something  cracked  near  the 
front  porch,  and  the  whole  front  of  the  house  she 
had  just  quitted  fell  forward, — just  as  cattle  fall 
on  their  knees  before  they  lie  down,  —  and  at  the 
same  moment  the  great  redwood-tree  swung  round 
and  drifted  away  with  its  living  cargo  into  the 
black  night. 

For  all  the  excitement  and  danger,  for  all  her 
soothing  of  her  crying  babe,  for  all  the  whistling 
of  the  wind,  for  all  the  uncertainty  of  her  situa- 
tion, she  still  turned  to  look  at  the  deserted  and 
water-swept  cabin.  She  remembered  even  then, 
and  she  wonders  how  foolish  she  was  to  think  of 
it  at  that  time,  that  she  wished  she  had  put  on 
another  dress  and  the  baby's  best  clothes ;  and 
she  kept  praying  that  the  house  would  be  spared 
so  that  he,  when  he  returned,  would  have  some- 
thing to  come  to,  and  it  wouldn't  be  quite  so 
desolate,  and  —  how  could  he  ever  know  what  had 
become  of  her  and  baby  ?  And  at  the  thought 
she  grew  sick  and  faint.  But  she  had  something 
else  to  do  besides  worrying,  for  whenever  the  long 
roots  of  her  ark  struck  an  obstacle,  the  whole 
trunk  made  half  a  revolution,  and  twice  dipped 
her  in  the  black  water.  The  hound,  who  kept 
distracting  her  by  running  up  and  down  the  tree 
and  howling,  at  last  fell  off  at  one  of  these  collis- 
ions. He  swam  for  some  time  beside  her,  and  she 

5  o 


98  HIGH- WATER  MARK. 

tried  to  get  the  poor  beast  upon  the  tree,  but  he 
"  acted  silly "  and  wild,  and  at  last  she  lost  sight  of 
him  forever.  Then  she  and  her  baby  were  left 
alone.  The  light  which  had  burned  for  a  few 
minutes  in  the  deserted  cabin  was  quenched  sud- 
denly. She  could  not  then  tell  whither  she  was 
drifting.  The  outline  of  the-  white  dunes .  on  the 
peninsula  showed  dimly  ahead,  and  she  judged 
the  tree  was  moving  in  a  line  with  the  river.  It 
must  be  about  slack  water,  and  she  had  probably 
reached  the  eddy  formed  by  the  confluence  of  the 
tide  and  the  overflowing  waters  of  the  river.  Un- 
less the  tide  fell  soon,  there  was  present  danger  of 
her  drifting  to  its  channel,  and  being  carried  out 
to  sea  or  crushed  in  the  floating  drift.  That  peril 
averted,  if  she  were  carried  out  on  the  ebb  toward 
the  bay,  she  might  hope  to  strike  one  of  the 
wooded  promontories  of  the  peninsula,  and  rest 
till  daylight.  Sometimes  she  thought  she  heard 
voices  and  shouts  from  the  river,  and  the  bellow- 
ing of  cattle  and  bleating  of  sheep.  Then  again 
it  was  only  the  ringing  in  her  ears  and  throbbing 
of  her  heart.  She  found  at  about  this  time  that 
she  was  so  chilled  and  stiffened  in  her  cramped 
position  that  she  could  scarcely  move,  and  the.  baby 
cried  so  when  she  put  it  to  her  breast  that  she 
noticed  the  milk  refused  to  flow  ;  and  she  was  so 
frightened  at  that,  that  she  put  her  head  under 
her  shawl,  and  for  the  first  time  cried  bitterly. 


HIGH- WATER  MARK.  99 

When  she  raised  her  head  again,  the  boom  of 
the  surf  was  behind  her,  and  she  knew  that  her 
ark  had  again  swung  round.  She  dipped  up  the 
water  to  cool  her  parched  throat,  and  found  that  it 
was  salt  as  her  tears.  There  was  a  relief,  though, 
for  by  this  sign  she  knew  that  she  was  drifting 
with  the  tide.  It  was  then  the  wind  went  down,  and 
the  great  and  awful  silence  oppressed  her.  There 
was  scarcely  a  ripple  against  the  furrowed  sides  of 
the  great  trunk  on  which  she  rested,  and  around 
her  all  was  black  gloom  and  quiet.  She  spoke  to 
the  baby  just  to  hear  herself  speak,  and  to  know  that 
she  had  not  lost  her  voice.  She  thought  then,  — 
it  was  queer,  but  she  could  not  help  thinking  it,  — 
how  awful  must  have  been  the  night  wiien  the 
great  ship  swung  over  the  Asiatic  peak,  and  the 
sounds  of  creation  were  blotted  out  from  the  world. 
She  thought,  too,  of  mariners  clinging  to  spars,  and 
of  poor  women  who  were  lashed  to  rafts,  and  beaten 
to  death  by  the  cruel  sea.  She  tried  to  thank  God 
that  she  was  thus  spared,  and  lifted  her  eyes  from 
the  baby  who  had  fallen  into  a  fretful  sleep.  Sud- 
denly, away  to  the  southward,  a  great  light  lifted 
itself  out  of  the  gloom,  and  flashed  and  flickered, 
and  flickered  and  flashed  again.  Her  heart  fluttered 
quickly  against  the  baby's  cold  cheek.  It  was  the 
lighthouse  at  the  entrance  of  the  bay.  As  she 
was  yet  wondering,  the  tree  suddenly  rolled  a  lit- 
tle, dragged  a  little,  and  then  seemed  to  lie  quiet 


100  HIGH- WATER  MARK. 

and  still.  She  put  out  her  hand  and  the  current 
gurgled  against  it.  The  tree  was  aground,  and,  by 
the  position  of  the  light  and  the  noise  of  the  surf, 
aground  upon  the  Dedlow  Marsh. 

Had  it  not  been  for  her  baby,  who  was  ailing  and 
croupy,  had  it  not  been  for  the  sudden  drying  up 
of  that  sensitive  fountain,  she  would  have  felt  safe 
and  relieved.  Perhaps  it  was  this  which  tended  to 
make  all  her  impressions  mournful  and  gloomy. 
As  the  tide  rapidly  fell,  a  great  flock  of  black  brent 
fluttered  by  her,  screaming  and  crying.  Then  the 
plover  flew  up  and  piped  mournfully,  as  they 
wheeled  around  the  trunk,  and  at  last  fearlessly  lit 
upon  it  like  a  gray  cloud.  Then  the  heron  flew 
over  and  around  her,  shrieking  and  protesting,  and* 
at  last  dropped  its  gaunt  legs  only  a  few  yards  from 
her.  But,  strangest  of  all,  a  pretty  white  bird, 
larger  than  a  dove,  —  like  a  pelican,  but  not  a  peli- 
can, • —  circled  around  and  around  her.  At  last  it 
lit  upon  a  rootlet  of  the  tree,  quite  over  her  shoul- 
der. She  put  out  her  hand  and  stroked  its  beau- 
tiful white  neck,  and  it  never  appeared  to  move. 
It  stayed  there  so  long  that  she  thought  she  would 
lift  up  the  baby  to  see  it,  and  try  to  attract  her  at- 
tention. But  when  she  did  so,  the  child  was  so 
chilled  and  cold,  and  had  such  a  blue  look  under 
the  little  lashes  which  it  did  n't  raise  at  all,  that 
she  screamed  aloud,  and  the  bird  flew  away,  and 
she  fainted. 


HIGH- WATER  MARK.  101 

Well,  that  was  the  worst  of  it,  and  perhaps  it 
was  not  so  much,  after  all,  to  any  but  herself. 
For  when  she  recovered  her  senses  it  was  bright 
sunlight,  and  dead  low  water.  There  was  a  con- 
fused noise  of  guttural  voices  about  her,  and  an 
old  squaw,  singing  an  Indian  "hushaby,"  and 
rocking  herself  from  side  to  side  before  a  fire 
built  on  the  marsh,  before  which  she,  the  recov- 
ered wife  and  mother,  lay  weak  and  weary.  Her 
first  thought  was  for  her  baby,  and  she  was  about 
to  speak,  when  a  young  squaw,  who  must  have 
been  a  mother  herself,  fathomed  her  thought  and 
brought  her  the  "mo witch,"  pale  but  living,  in 
such  a  queer  little  willow  cradle  all  bound  up,  just 
like  the  squaw's  own  young  one,  that  she  laughed 
and  cried  together,  and  the  young  squaw  and  the 
old  squaw  showed  their  big  white  teeth  and 
glinted  their  black  eyes  and  said,  "Plenty  get 
well,  skeena  mowitch,"  "  wagee  man  come  plenty 
soon,"  and  she  could  have  kissed  their  brown  faces 
in  her  joy.  And  then  she  found  that  they  had 
been  gathering  berries  on  the  marsh  in  their  queer, 
comical  baskets,  and  saw  the  skirt  of  her  gown 
fluttering  on  the  tree  from  afar,  and  the  old  squaw 
could  n't  resist  the  temptation  of  procuring  a  new 
garment,  and  came  down  and  discovered  the  "  wa- 
gee "  woman  and  child.  And  of  course  she  gave 
the  garment  to  the  old  squaw,  as  you  may  imagine, 
and  when  Tie  came  at  last  and  rushed  up  to  her, 


102  HIGH-WATER   MARK. 

looking  about  ten  years  older  in  his  anxiety,  she 
felt  so  faint  again  that  they  had  to  carry  her  to 
the  canoe.  For,  you  see,  he  knew  nothing  about 
the  flood  until  he  met  the  Indians  at  Utopia,  and 
knew  by  the  signs  that  the  poor  woman  was  his 
wife.  And  at  the  next  high-tide  he  towed  the 
tree  away  back  home,  although  it  wasn't  worth 
the  trouble,  and  built  another  house,  using  the 
old  tree  for  the  foundation  and  props,  and  called 
it  after  her,  "  Mary's  Ark  ! "  Butr  you  may  guess 
the  next  house  was  built  above  High- water  mark. 
And  that 's  all. 

Not  much,  perhaps,  considering  the  malevolent 
capacity  of  the  Dedlow  Marsh.  But  you  must 
tramp  over  it  at  low  water,  or  paddle  over  it  at 
high  tide,  or  get  lost  upon  it  once  or  twice  in 
the  fog,  as  I  have,  to  understand  properly  Mary's 
adventure,  or  to  appreciate  duly  the  blessings  of 
living  beyond  High- Water  Mark. 


A  LONELY  BIDE. 

AS  I  stepped  into  the  Slumgullion  stage  I  saw 
that  it  was  a  dark  night,  a  lonely  road,  and 
that  I  was  the  only  passenger.  Let  me  assure  the 
reader  that  I  -have  no  ulterior  design  in  making 
this  assertion.  A  long  course  of  light  reading  has 
forewarned  me  what  every  experienced  intelligence 
must  confidently  look  for  from  such  a  statement. 
The  story-teller  who  wilfully  tempts  Fate  by  such 
obvious  beginnings  ;  who  is  to  the  expectant  reader 
in  danger  of  being  robbed  or  half  murdered,  or 
frightened  by  an  escaped  lunatic,  or  introduced  to 
his  lady-love  for  the  first  time,  deserves  to  be  de- 
tected. I  am  relieved  to  say  that  none  of  these 
things  occurred  to  me.  The  road  from  Wingdam 
to  Slumgullion  knew  no  other  banditti  than  the 
regularly  licensed  hotel-keepers  ;  lunatics  had  not 
yet  reached  such  depth  of  imbecility  as  to  ride 
of  their  own  free-will  in  California  stages  ;  and  my 
Laura,  amiable  and  long-suffering  as  she  always  is, 
could  not,  I  fear,  have  borne  up  against  these  de- 
pressing circumstances  long  enough  to  have  made 
the  slightest  impression  on  me. 

I  stood  with  my  shawl  and  carpet-bag  in  hand, 


104  A  LONELY  RIDE. 

gazing  doubtingly  on  the  vehicle.  Even  in  the 
darkness  the  red  dust  of  Wingdam  was  visible 
on  its  roof  and  sides,  and  the  red  slime  of  Slum- 
gullion  clung  tenaciously  to  its  wheels.  I  opened 
the  door ;  the  stage  creaked  uneasily,  and  in  the 
gloomy  abyss  the  swaying  straps  beckoned  me, 
like  ghostly  hands,  to  come  in  now,  and  have  my 
sufferings  out  at- once. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  occurrence  of  a 
circumstance  which  struck  me  as  appalling  and 
mysterious.  A  lounger  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel, 
whom  I  had  reason  to  suppose  was  not  in  any  way 
connected  with  the  stage  company,  gravely  de- 
scended, and,  walking  toward  the  conveyance,  tried 
the  handle  of  the  door,  opened  it,  expectorated 
in  the  carriage,  and  returned  to  the  hotel  -with  a 
serious  demeanor.  Hardly  had  he  resumed  his 
position,  when  another  individual,  equally  dis- 
interested, impassively  walked  down  the  steps, 
proceeded  to  the  back  of  the  stage,  lifted  it,  ex- 
pectorated carefully  on  the  axle,  and  returned 
slowly  and  pensively  to  the  hotel.  A  third  spec- 
tator wearily  disengaged  himself  from  one  of  the 
Ionic  columns  of  the  portico  and  walked  to  the 
box,  remained  for  a  moment  in  serious  and  expec- 
torative contemplation  of  the  boot,  and  then  re- 
turned to  his  column.  There  was  something  so 
weird  in  this  baptism  that  I  grew  quite  nervous. 

Perhaps  I  was  out  of  spirits.     A  number  of  in- 


A  LONELY  BIDE.  105 

finitesimal  annoyances,  winding  up  with  the  res- 
olute persistency  of  the  clerk  at  the  stage-office 
to  enter  my  name  misspelt  on  the  way-bill,  had 
not  predisposed  me  to  cheerfulness.  The  inmates 
of  the  Eureka  House,  from  a  social  view-point, 
were  not  attractive.  There  was  the  prevailing 
opinion  —  so  common  to  many  honest  people  — 
that  a  serious  style  of  deportment  and  conduct 
toward  a  stranger  indicates  high  gentility  and 
elevated  station.  Obeying  this  principle,  all  hi- 
larity ceased  on  my  entrance  to  supper,  and  gen- 
eral remark  merged  into  the  safer  and  uncompro- 
mising chronicle  of  several  bad  cases  of  diphtheria, 
then  epidemic  at  Wingdam.  When  I  left  the 
dining-room,  with  an  odd  feeling  that  I  had  been 
supping  exclusively  on  mustard  and  tea-leaves,  I 
stopped  a  moment  at  the  parlor  door.  A  piano, 
harmoniously  related  to  the  dinner-bell,  tinkled  re- 
sponsive to  a  diffident  and  uncertain  touch.  On  the 
white  wall  the  shadow  of  an  old  and  sharp  profile 
was  bending  over  several  symmetrical  and  shadowy 
curls.  "  I  sez  to  Mariar,  Mariar,  sez  I, '  Praise  to  the 
face  is  open  disgrace.' "  I  heard  no  more.  Dreading 
some  susceptibility  to  sincere  expression  on  the 
subject  of  female  loveliness,  I  walked  away,  check- 
ing the  compliment  that  otherwise  might  have 
risen  unbidden  to  my  lips,  and  have  brought 
shame  and  sorrow  to  the  household. 

It  was  with  the  memory  of  these  experiences 
5* 


106  A   LONELY  HIDE. 

resting  heavily  upon  me,  that  I  stood  hesitatingly 
before  the  stage  door.  The  driver,  about  to  mount, 
was  for  a  moment  illuminated  by  the  open  door  of 
the  hotel.  He  had  the  wearied  look  which  was 
the  distinguishing  expression  of  Wingdam.  Satis- 
fied that  I  was  properly  way-billed  and  receipted 
for,  he  took  no  further  notice  of  me.  I  looked 
longingly  at  the  box-seat,  but  he  did  not  respond 
to  the  appeal.  I  flung  my  carpet-bag  into  the 
chasm,  dived  recklessly  after  it,  and  —  before  I 
was  fairly  seated  —  with  a  great  sigh,  a  creak- 
ing of  unwilling  springs,  complaining  bolts,  and 
harshly  expostulating  axle,  we  moved  away. 
Kather  the  hotel  door  slipped  behind,  the  sound 
of  the  piano  sank  to  rest,  and  the  night  and  its 
shadows  moved  solemnly  upon  us. 

To  say  it  was  dark  expressed  but  faintly  the 
pitchy  obscurity  that  encompassed  the  vehicle. 
The  roadside  trees  were  scarcely  distinguishable  as 
deeper  masses  of  shadow;  I  knew  them  only  by 
the  peculiar  sodden  odor  that  from  time  to  time  slug- 
gishly flowed  in  at  the  open  window  as  we  rolled 
by.  We  proceeded  slowly ;  so  leisurely  that,  lean- 
ing from  the  carriage,  I  more  than  once  detected 
the  fragrant  sigh  of  some  astonished  cow,  whose 
ruminating  repose  upon  the  highway  we  had  ruth- 
lessly disturbed.  But  in  the  darkness  our  progress, 
more  the  guidance  of  some  mysterious  instinct 
than  any  apparent  volition  of  our  own,  gave  an 


A  LONELY  RIDE.  107 

indefinable  charm  of  security  to  our  journey,  that 
a  moment's  hesitation  or  indecision  on  the  part  of 
the  driver  would  have  destroyed. 

I  had  indulged  a  hope  that  in  the  empty  vehi- 
cle I  might  obtain  that  rest  so  often  denied  me 
in  its  crowded  condition.  It  was  a  weak  delusion. 
When  I  stretched  out  my  limbs  it  was  only  to  find 
that  the  ordinary  conveniences  for  making  several 
people  distinctly  uncomfortable  were  distributed 
throughout  my  individual  frame.  At  last,  resting 
my  arms  on  the  straps,  by  dint  of  much  gymnas- 
tic effort  I  became  sufficiently  composed  to  be 
aware  of  a  more  refined  species  of  torture.  The 
springs  of  the  stage,  rising  and  falling  regularly, 
produced  a  rhythmical  beat,  which  began  to  pain- 
fully absorb  my  attention.  Slowly  this  thumping 
merged  into  a  senseless  echo  of  the  mysterious 
female  of  the  hotel  parlor,  and  shaped  itself  into 
this  awful  and  benumbing  axiom, — "  Praise-to-the- 
face-is-open-disgrace.  Praise-to-the-face-is-open- 
disgrace."  Inequalities  of  the  road  only  quickened 
its  utterance  or  drawled  it  to  an  exasperating 
length. 

It  was  of  no  use  to  seriously  consider  the  state- 
ment. It  was  of  no  use  to  except  to  it  indignantly. 
It  was  of  no  use  to  recall  the  many  instances 
where  praise  to  the  face  had  redounded  to  the 
everlasting  honor  of  praiser  and  bepraised ;  of  no 
use  to  dwell  sentimentally  on  modest  genius  and 


108  A   LONELY  RIDE. 

courage  lifted  up  and  strengthened  by  open  com- 
mendation ;  of  no  use  to  except  to  the  mysterious 
female,  —  to  picture  her  as  rearing  a  thin-blooded 
generation  on  selfish  and  mechanically  repeated 
axioms,  —  all  this  failed  to  counteract  the  monoto- 
nous repetition  of  this  sentence.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  give  in,  —  and  I  was  about  to  ac- 
cept it  weakly,  as  we  too  often  treat  other  illusions 
of  darkness  and  necessity,  for  the  time  being,  — 
when  I  became  aware  of  some  other  annoyance 
that  had  been  forcing  itself  upon  me  for  the  last 
few  moments.  How  quiet  the  driver  was  ! 

Was  there  any  driver  ?  Had  I  any  reason  to 
suppose  that  he  was  not  lying,  gagged  and  bound 
on  the  roadside,  and  the  highwayman,  with  black- 
ened face  who  did  the  thing  so  quietly,  driving  me 
—  whither  ?  The  thing  is  perfectly  feasible.  And 
what  is  this  fancy  now  being  jolted  out  of  me.  A 
story  ?  It 's  of  no  use  to  keep  it  back,  —  particu- 
larly in  this  abysmal  vehicle,  and  here  it  comes : 
I  am  a  Marquis,  —  a  French  Marquis  ;  French,  be- 
cause the  peerage  is  not  so  well  known,  and  the 
country  is  better  adapted  to  romantic  incident,  — 
a  Marquis,  because  the  democratic  reader  delights 
in  the  nobility.  My  name  is  something  ligny.  I 
arn  coming  from  Paris  to  my  country-seat  at  St. 
Germain.  It  is  a  dark  night,  and  I  fall  asleep  and 
tell  my  honest  coachman,  Andre,  not  to  disturb  me, 
and  dream  of  an  angel.  The  carriage  at  last  stops 


A  LONELY  RIDE.  109 

at  the  chateau.  It  is  so  dark  that  when  I  alight 
I  do  not  recognize  the  face  of  the  footman  who 
holds  the  carriage  door.  But  what  of  that  ?  — peste  I 
I  am  heavy  with  sleep.  The  same  obscurity  also 
hides  the  old  familiar  indecencies  of  the  statues 
on  the  terrace ;  but  there  is  a  door,  and  it  opens 
and  shuts  behind  me  smartly.  Then  I  find  myself 
in  a  trap,  in  the  presence  of  the  brigand  who  has 
quietly  gagged  poor  Andre  and  conducted  the  car- 
riage thither.  There  is  nothing  for  me  to  do,  as  a 
gallant  French  Marquis,  but  to  say,  "  Parlleu  ! " 
draw  my  rapier,  and  die  valorously  !  I  am  found  a 
week  or  two  after,  outside  a  deserted  cabaret  near 
the  barrier,  with  a  hole  through  my  ruffled  linen 
and  my  pockets  stripped.  No ;  on  second  thoughts, 
I  am  rescued,  —  rescued  by  the  angel  I  have  been 
dreaming  of,  who  is  the  assumed  daughter  of  the 
brigand,  but  the  real  daughter  of  an  intimate 
friend. 

Looking  from  the  window  again,  in  the  vain 
hope  of  distinguishing  the  driver,  I  found  my  eyes 
were  growing  accustomed  to  the  darkness.  I  could 
see  the  distant  horizon,  defined  by  India-inky 
woods,  relieving  a  lighter  sky.  A  few  stars  widely 
spaced  in  this  picture  glimmered  sadly.  I  noticed 
again  the  infinite  depth  of  patient  sorrow  in  their 
serene  faces  ;  and  I  hope  that  the  Vandal  who  first 
applied  the  flippant  "  twinkle  "  to  them  may  not  be 
driven  melancholy  mad  by  their  reproachful  eyes. 


110  A   LONELY   RIDE. 

I  noticed  again  the  mystic  charm  of  space  that  im- 
parts a  sense  of  individual  solitude  to  each  integer 
of  the  densest  constellation,  involving  the  smallest 
star  with  immeasurable  loneliness.  Something  of 
this  calm  and  solitude  crept  over  me,  and  I  dozed  in 
my  gloomy  cavern.  When  I  awoke  the  full  moon 
was  rising.  Seen  from  my  window,  it  had  an 
indescribably  unreal  and  theatrical  effect.  It  was 
the  full  moon  of  Norrna, — that  remarkable  celestial 
phenomenon  which  rises  so  palpably  to  a  hushed 
audience  and  a  sublime  andante  chorus,  until  the 
'Casta  Diva  is  sung, —  the  "inconstant  moon"  that 
then  and  thereafter  remains  fixed  in  the  heavens  as 
though  it  were  a  part  of  the  solar  system  inaugu- 
rated by  Joshua.  Again  the  white-robed  Druids 
filed  past  me,  again  I  saw  that  improbable  mistle- 
toe cut  from  that  impossible  oak,  and  again  cold 
chills  ran  down  my  back  with  the  first  strain  of  the 
recitative.  The  thumping  springs  essayed  to  beat 
time,  and  the  private-box-like  obscurity  of  the 
vehicle  lent  a  cheap  enchantment  to  the  view. 
But  it  was  a  vast  improvement  upon  my  past  ex- 
perience, and  I  hugged  the  fond  delusion. 

My  fears  for  the  driver  were  dissipated  with  the 
rising  moon.  A  familiar  sound  had  assured  me  of 
his  presence  in  the  full  possession  of  at  least  one 
of  his  most  important  functions.  Frequent  and 
full  expectoration  convinced  me  that  his  lips  were 
as  yet  not  sealed  by  the  gag  of  highwaymen,  and 


A  LONELY  RIDE.  Ill 

soothed  my  anxious  ear.  With  this  load  lifted 
from  my  mind,  and  assisted  by  the  mild  presence 
of  Diana,  who  left,  as  when  she  visited  Endymion, 
much  of  her  splendor  outside  my  cavern,  —  I 
looked  around  the  empty  vehicle.  On  the  forward 
seat  lay  a  woman's  hair-pin.  I  picked  it  up  with 
an  interest  that,  however,  soon  abated.  There  was 
no  scent  of  the  roses  to  cling  to  it  still,  not  even 
of  hair-oil.  No  bend  or  twist  in  its  rigid  angles 
betrayed  any  trait  of  its  wearer's  character.  I 
tried  to  think  that  it  might  have  been  "  Mariar's." 
I  tried  to  imagine  that,  confining  the  symmet- 
rical curls  of  that  girl,  it  might  have  heard  the 
soft  compliments  whispered  in  her  ears,  which 
provoked  the  wrath  of  the  aged  female.  But  in 
vain.  It  was  reticent  and  unswerving  in  its  up- 
right fidelity,  and  at  last  slipped  listlessly  through 
my  fingers. 

I  had  dozed  repeatedly,  —  waked  on  the  thresh- 
old of  oblivion  by  contact  with  some  of  the  angles 
of  the  coach,  and  feeling  that  I  was  uncon- 
sciously assuming,  in  imitation  of  a  humble  in- 
sect of  my  childish  recollection,  that  spherical 
shape  which  could  best  resist  those  impressions, 
when  I  perceived  that  the  moon,  riding  high  in 
the  heavens,  had  begun  to  separate  the  formless 
masses  of  the  shadowy  landscape.  Trees  isolated, 
in  clumps  and  assemblages,  changed  places  before 
my  window.  The  sharp  outlines  of  the  distant 


112  A  LONELY  RIDE. 

hills  came  back,  as  in  daylight,  but  little  softened 
in  the  dry,  cold,  dewless  air  of  a  California  sum- 
mer night.  I  was  wondering  how  late  it  was,  and 
thinking  that  if  the  horses  of  the  night  travelled  as 
slowly  as  the  team  before  us,  Faustus  might  have 
been  spared  his  agonizing  prayer,  when  a  sudden 
spasm  of  activity  attacked  my  driver.  A  succes- 
sion of  whip-snappings,  like  a  pack  of  Chinese 
crackers,  broke  from  the  box  before  me.  The  stage 
leaped  forward,  and  when  I  could  pick  myself 
from  under  the  seat,  a  long  white  building  had  in 
some  mysterious  way  rolled  before  my  window. 
It  must  be  Slumgullion  !  As  I  descended  from  the 
stage  I  addressed  the  driver :  — 

"  I  thought  you  changed  horses  on  the  road  ?  " 

"  So  we  did.     Two  hours  ago." 

"  That 's  odd.     I  did  n't  notice  it." 

"  Must  have  been  asleep,  sir.  Hope  you  had  a 
pleasant  nap.  Bully  place  for  a  nice  quiet  snooze, 
' —  empty  stage,  sir  ! " 


THE   MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT. 


HIS  name  was  Fagg, — David  Fagg.  He  came 
to  California  in  '52  with  us,  in  the  "  Sky- 
scraper." I  don't  think  he  did  it  in  an  adventu- 
rous way.  He  probably  had  no  other  place  to  go 
to.  When  a  knot  of  us  young  fellows  would  recite 
what  splendid  opportunities  we  resigned  to  go,  and 
how  sorry  our  friends  were  to  have  us  leave,  and 
show  daguerreotypes  and  locks  of  hair,  and  talk  of 
Mary  and  Susan,  the  man  of  no  account  used  to 
sit  by  and  listen  with  a  pained,  mortified  expres- 
sion on  his  plain  face,  and  say  nothing.  I  think  he 
had  nothing  to  say.  He  had  no  associates  except 
when  we  patronized  him ;  and,  in  point  of  fact,  he 
was  a  good  deal  of  sport  to  us.  He  was  always 
sea-sick  whenever  we  had  a  capful  of  wind.  He 
never  got  his  sea-legs  on  either.  And  I  never 
shall  forget  how  we  all  laughed  when  Eattler  took 
him  the  piece  of  pork  on  a  string,  and  —  But  you 
know  that  time-honored  joke.  And  then  we  had 
such  a  splendid  lark  with  him.  Miss  Fanny 
Twinkler  could  n't  bear  the  sight  of  him,  and  we 
used  to  make  Fagg  think  that  she  had  taken  a 


114  THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT. 

fancy  to  him,  and  send  him  little  delicacies  and 
books  from  the  cabin.  You  ought  to  have  wit- 
nessed the  rich  scene  that  took  place  when  he 
came  up,  stammering  and  very  sick,  to  thank  her ! 
Did  n't  she  flash  up  grandly  and  beautifully  and 
scornfully  ?  So  like  "  Medora,"  Eattler  said, — Eat- 
tler  knew  Byron  by  heart,  —  and  was  n't  old  Fagg 
awfully  cut  up  ?  Bat  he  got  over  it,  and  when 
Eattler  fell  sick  at  Valparaiso,  old  Fagg  used  to 
nurse  him.  You  see  he  was  a  good  sort  of  fellow, 
but  he  lacked  manliness  and  spirit. 

He  had  absolutely  no  idea  of  poetry.  I  Ve  seen 
him  sit  stolidly  by,  mending  his  old  clothes,  when 
Eattler  delivered  that  stirring  apostrophe  of  By- 
ron's to  the  ocean.  He  asked  Eattler  once,  quite 
seriously,  if  he  thought* Byron  was  ever  sea-sick. 
I  don't  remember  Eattler' s  reply,  but  I  know  we 
all  laughed  very  much,  and  I  have  no  doubt  it  was 
something  good,  for  Eattler  was  smart. 

When  the  "Skyscraper"  arrived  at  San  Fran- 
cisco we  had  a  grand  "  feed."  We  agreed  to  meet 
every  year  and  perpetuate  the  occasion.  Of  course 
we  did  n't  invite  Fagg.  Fagg  was  a  steerage-pas- 
senger, and  it  was  necessary,  you  see,  now  we  were 
ashore,  to  exercise  a  little  discretion.  But  Old  Fagg, 
as  we  called  him,  —  he  wras  only  about  twenty-five 
years  old,  by  the  way,  —  was  the  source  of  im- 
mense amusement  to  us  that  day.  It  appeared 
that  he  had  conceived  the  idea  that  he  could  walk 


THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT.  115 

to  Sacramento,  and  actually  started  off  afoot.  We 
had  a  good  time,  and  shook  hands  with  one  another 
all  around,  and  so  parted.  Ah  me !  only  eight 
years  ago,  and  yet  some  of  those  hands  then 
clasped  in  amity  have  been  clenched  at  each  other, 
or  have  dipped  furtively  in  one  another's  pockets. 
I  know  that  we  did  n't  dine  together  the  next  year, 
because  young  Barker  swore  he  would  n't  put  his 
feet  under  the  same  mahogany  with  such  a  very 
contemptible  scoundrel  as  that  Mixer;  and  Mb- 
bles,  who  borrowed  money  at  Valparaiso  of  young 
Stubbs,  who  w^as  then  a  waiter  in  a  restaurant, 
did  n't  like  to  meet  such  people. 

When  I  bought  a  number  of  shares  in  the  Coyote 
Tunnel  at  Mugginsville,  in  '54,  I  thought  I  'd 
take  a  run  up  there  and  see  it.  I  stopped  at  the 
Empire  Hotel,  and  after  dinner  I  got  a  horse  and 
rode  round  the  town  and  out  to  the  claim.  One 
of  those  individuals  whom  newspaper  correspond- 
ents call  "  our  intelligent  informant,"  and  to  whom 
in  all  small  communities  the  right  of  answering 
questions  is  tacitly  yielded,  was  quietly  pointed 
out  to  me.  Habit  had  enabled  him  to  work  and 
talk  at  the  same  time,  and  he  never  pretermitted 
either.  He  gave  me  a  history  of  the  claim,  and 
added  :  "You  see,  stranger  "  (he  addressed  the  bank 
before  him),  "gold  is  sure  to  come  out  'er  that  theer 
claim  (he  put  in  a  comma  with  his  pick),  but  the 
old  pro-pri-e-tor  (he  wriggled  out  the  word  and  the 


116  THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT. 

point  of  his  pick)  warn't  of  much  account  (a  long 
stroke  of  the  pick  for  a  period).  He  was  green, 
and  let  the  boys  about  here  jump  him," — and  the 
rest  of  his  sentence  was  confided  to  his  hat,  which 
he  had  removed  to  wipe  his  manly  brow  with  his 
red  bandanna. 

I  asked  him  who  was  the  original  proprietor. 

"  His  name  war  Fagg." 

I  went  to  see  him.  He  looked  a  little  older  and 
plainer.  He  had  worked  hard,  he  said,  and  was 
getting  on  "  so,  so."  I  took  quite  a  liking  to  him 
and  patronized  him  to  some  extent.  Whether  I 
did  so  because  I  was  beginning  to  have  a  distrust 
for  such  fellows  as  Battler  and  Mixer  is  not  neces- 
sary for  me  to  state. 

You  remember  how  the  Coyote  Tunnel  went  in, 
and  how  awfully  we  shareholders  were  done ! 
Well,  the  next  thing  I  heard  was  that  Eattler,  who 
was  one  of  the  heaviest  shareholders,  was  up  at 
Mugginsville  keeping  bar  for  the  proprietor  of  the 
Mugginsville  Hotel,  and  that  old  Fagg  had  struck 
it  rich,  and  did  n't  know  what  to  do  with  his 
money.  All  this  was  told  me  by  Mixer,  who  had- 
been  there,  settling  up  matters,  and  likewise  that 
Fagg  was  sweet  upon  the  daughter  of  the  proprie- 
tor of  the  aforesaid  hotel.  And  so  by  hearsay  and 
letter  I  eventually  gathered  that  old  Eobins,  the 
hotel  man,  was  trying  to  get  up  a  match  between 
Nellie  Eobins  and  Fagg.  Nellie  was  a  pretty, 


THE  MAN   OF  NO   ACCOUNT.  117 

plump,  and  foolish  little  tiling,  and  would  do  just 
as  her  father  wished.  I  thought  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  for  Fagg  if  he  should  marry  and  settle 
down ;  that  as  a  married  man  he  might  be  of  some 
account.  So  I  ran  up  to  Mugginsville  one  day  to 
look  after  things. 

It  did  me  an  immense  deal  of  good  to  make 
Eattler  mix  my  drinks  for  me,  —  Battler  !  the  gay, 
brilliant,  and  unconquerable  Eattler,  who  had  tried 
to  snub  me  two  years  ago.  I  talked  to  him  about 
old  Fagg  and  Nellie,  particularly  as  I  thought  the 
subject  was  distasteful.  He  never  liked  Fagg,  and 
he  was  sure,  he  said,  that  Nellie  did  n't.  Did  Nel- 
lie like  anybody  else  ?  He  turned  around  to  the 
mirror  behind  the  bar  and  brushed  up  his  hair  !  I 
understood  the  conceited  wretch.  I  thought  I  'd 
put  Fagg  on  his  guard  and  get  him  to  hurry  up 
matters.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  You  could 
see  by  the  way  the  poor  fellow  acted  that  he  was 
badly  stuck.  He  sighed,  and  promised  to  pluck 
up  courage  to  hurry  matters  to  a  crisis.  Nellie 
was  a  good  girl,  and  I  think  had  a  sort  of  quiet 
respect  for  old  Fagg's  unobtrusiveness.  But  her 
fancy  was  already  taken  captive  by  Rattler's  su- 
perficial qualities,  which  were  obvious  and  pleas- 
ing. I  don't  think  Nellie  was  any  worse  than  you 
or  I.  We  are  more  apt  to  take  acquaintances  at 
their  apparent  value  than  their  intrinsic  worth. 
It's  less  trouble,  and,  except  when  we  want  to 


118  THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT. 

trust  them,  quite  as  convenient.  The  difficulty 
with  women  is  that  their  feelings  are  apt  to  get 
interested  sooner  than  ours,  and  then,  you  know, 
reasoning  is  out  of  the  question.  This  is  what  old 
Fagg  would  have  known  had  he  been  of  any  ac- 
count. But  he  was  n't.  So  much  the  worse  for 
him. 

It  was  a  few  months  afterward,  and  I  was  sit- 
ting in  my  office  when  in  walked  old  Fagg.  I 
was  surprised  to  see .  him  down,  but  we  talked 
over  the  current  topics  in  that  mechanical  manner 
of  people  who  know  that  they  have  something 
else  to  say,  but  are  obliged  to  get  at  it  in  that  for- 
mal way.  After  an  interval  Fagg  in  his  natural 
manner  said,  — 

"  I  'm  going  home  ! " 

"  Going  home  ?  " 

"Yes,  — that  is,  I  think  I  '11  take  a  trip  to  the 
Atlantic  States.  I  came  to  see  you,  as  you  know 
I  have  some  little  property,  and  I  have  executed 
a  power  of  attorney  for  you  to  manage  my  affairs. 
I  have  some  papers  I  'd  like  to  leave  with  you. 
Will  you  take  charge  of  them  ? " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.    "  But  what  of  Nellie  ? " 

His  face  fell.  He  tried  to  smile,  and  the  com- 
bination resulted  in  one  of  the  most  startling  and 
grotesque  effects  I  ever  beheld.  At  length  he 
said,  — 

"  I   shall   not   marry   Nellie,  —  that   is,"  —  he 


THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT.  119 

seemed  to  apologize  internally  for  the  positive  form 
of  expression,  —  "I  think  that  I  had  better  not." 

"  David  Fagg,"  I  said  with  sudden  severity, 
"  you  're  of  no  account !  " 

To  my  astonishment  his  face  brightened.  "  Yes," 
said  he,  "  that 's  it !  —  I  'm-of  no  account !  But  I 
always  knew  it.  You  see  I  thought  Rattler  loved 
that  girl  as  well  as  I  did,  and  I  knew  she  liked 
him  better  than  she  did  me,  and  would  be  happier 
I  dare  say  with  him.  But  then  I  knew  that  old 
Robins  would  have  preferred  me  to  him,  as  I  was 
better  off,  —  and  the  girl  would  do  as  he  said,  — 
and,  you  see,  I  thought  I  was  kinder  in  the  way,  — 
and  so  I  left.  But,"  he  continued,  as  I  was 
about  to  interrupt  him,  "for  fear  the  old  man 
might  object  to  Rattler,  I  've  lent  him  enough  to 
set  him  up  in  business  for  himself  in  Dogtown. 
A  pushing,  active,  brilliant  fellow,  you  know,  like 
Rattler  can  get  along,  and  will  soon  be  in  his  old 
position  again,  —  and  you  need  n't  be  hard  on  him, 
you  know,  if  he  does  n't.  Good  by." 

I  was  too  much  disgusted  with  his  treatment  of 
that  Rattler  to  be  at  all  amiable*  but  as  his  busi- 
ness was  profitable,  I  promised  to  attend  to  it,  and 
he  left.  A  few  weeks  passed.  The  return  steamer 
arrived,  and  a  terrible  incident  occupied  the  papers 
for  days  afterward.  People  in  all  parts  of  the 
State  conned  eagerly  the  details  of  an  awful  ship- 
wreck, and  those  who  had  friends  aboard  went 


120  THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT. 

away  by  themselves,  and  read  the  long  list  of  the 
lost  under  their  breath.  I  read  of  the  gifted,  the 
gallant,  the  noble,  and  loved  ones  who  had  perished, 
and  among  them  I  think  I  was  the  first  to  read 
the  name  of  David  Fagg.  For  the  "man  of  no 
account "  had  "  gone  home ! " 


STORIES 


MLISS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

JUST  where  the  Sierra  Nevada  begins  to  sub- 
side in  gentler  undulations,  and  the  rivers 
grow  less  rapid  and  yellow,  on  the  side  of  a 
great  red  mountain,  stands  "Smith's  Pocket." 
Seen  from  the  red  road  at  sunset,  in  the  red 
light  and  the  red  dust,  its  white  houses  look  like 
the  outcroppings  of  quartz  on  the  mountain-side. 
The  red  stage  topped  with  red-shirted  passengers 
is  lost  to  view  half  a  dozen  times  in  the  tortuous 
descent,  turning  up  unexpectedly  in  out-of-the- 
way  places,  and  vanishing  altogether  within  a 
hundred  yards  of  the  town.  It  is  probably  owing 
to  this  sudden  twist  in  the  road  that  the  advent 
of  a  stranger  at  Smith's  Pocket  is  usually  attended 
with  a  peculiar  circumstance.  Dismounting  from 
the  vehicle  at  the  stage-office,  the  too  confident 
traveller  is  apt  to  walk  straight  out  of  town  under 
the  impression  that  it  lies  in  quite  another  direc- 
tion. It  is  related  that  one  of  the  tunnel-men, 
two  miles  from  town,  met  one  of  these  self- 


124  MLISS. 

reliant  passengers  with  a  carpet-bag,  umbrella, 
Harper's  Magazine,  and  other  evidences  of  "  Civi- 
lization and  Kefinement,"  plodding  along  over  the 
road  he  had  just  ridden,  vainly  endeavoring  to 
find  the  settlement  of  Smith's  Pocket. 

An  observant  traveller  might  have  found  some 
compensation  for  his  disappointment  in  the  weird 
aspect  of  that  vicinity.  There  were  huge  fissures 
on  the  hillside,  and  displacements  of  the  red 
soil,  resembling  more  the  chaos  of  some  primary 
elemental  upheaval  than  the  work  of  man ;  while, 
half-way  down,  a  long  flume  straddled  its  narrow 
body  and  disproportionate  legs  over  the  chasm, 
like  an  enormous  fossil  of  some  forgotten  ante- 
diluvian. At  every  step  smaller  ditches  crossed 
the  road,  hiding  in  their  sallow  depths  unlovely 
streams  that  crept  away  to  a  clandestine  union 
with  the  great  yellow  torrent  below,  arid  here  and 
there  were  the  ruins  of  some  cabin  with  the 
chimney  alone  left  intact  and  the  hearthstone  open 
to  the  skies. 

The  settlement  of  Smith's  Pocket  owed  its 
origin  to  the  finding  of  a  "pocket"  on  its  site 
by  a  veritable  Smith.  Five  thousand  dollars 
were  taken  out  of  it  in  one  half-hour  by  Smith. 
Three  thousand  dollars  were  expended  by  Smith 
and  others  in  erecting  a  flume  and  in  tunnelling. 
And  then  Smith's  Pocket  was  found  to  be  only 
a  pocket,  and  subject  like  other  pockets  to  deple- 


MLISS.  125 

tion.  Although  Smith  pierced  the  bowels  of 
the  great  red  mountain,  that  five  thousand  dollars 
was  the  first  and  last  return  of  his  labor.  The 
mountain  grew  reticent  of  its  golden  secrets,  and 
the  flurne  steadily  ebbed  away  the  remainder  of 
Smith's  fortune.  Then  Smith  went  into  quartz- 
mining  ;  then  into  quartz-milling ;  then  into  hy- 
draulics and  ditching,  and  then  by  easy  degrees 
into  saloon-keeping.  Presently  it  was  whispered 
that  Smith  was  drinking  a  great  deal ;  then  it 
was  known  that  Smith  was  a  habitual  drunkard, 
and  then  people  began  to  think,  as  they  are  apt 
to,  that  he  had  never  been  anything  else.  But 
the  settlement  of  Smith's  Pocket,  like  that  of 
most  discoveries,  was  happily  not  dependent  on 
the  fortune  of  its  pioneer,  and  other  parties  pro- 
jected tunnels  and  found  pockets.  So  Smith's 
Pocket  became  a  settlement  with  its  two  fancy 
stores,  its  two  hotels,  its  one  express-office,  and  its 
two  first  families.  Occasionally  its  one  long  strag- 
gling street  was  overawed  by  the  assumption  of 
the  latest  San  Francisco  fashions,  imported  per 
express,  exclusively  to  the  first  families ;  making 
outraged  Nature,  in  the  ragged  outline  of  her  fur- 
rowed surface,  look  still  more  homely,  and  putting- 
personal  insult  on  that  greater  portion  of  the. popu- 
lation to  whom  the  Sabbath,  with  a  change  of 
linen,  brought  merely  the  necessity  of  cleanliness, 
without  the  luxury  of  adornment.  Then  there 


126  MLISS. 

was  a  Methodist  Church,  and  hard  by  a  Monte 
Bank,  and  a  little  beyond,  on  the  mountain-side,  a 
graveyard ;  and  then  a  little  school-house. 

"The  Master,"  as  he  was  known  to  his  little 
flock,  sat  alone  one  night  in  the  school-house, 
with  some  open  copy-books  before  him,  carefully 
making  those  bold  and  full  characters  which  are 
supposed  to  combine  the  extremes  of  chirographi- 
cal  and  moral  excellence,  and  had  got  as  far  as 
"  Eiches  are  deceitful,"  and  was  elaborating  the 
noun  with  an  insincerity  of  nourish  that  was  quite 
in  the  spirit  of  his  text,  when  he  heard  a  gentle 
tapping.  The  woodpeckers  had  been  busy  about 
the  roof  during  the  day,  and  the  noise  did  not  dis- 
turb his  work.  But  the  opening  of  the  door,  and 
the  tapping  continuing  from  the  inside,  caused  him 
to  look  up.  He  was  slightly  startled  by  the  figure 
of  a  young  girl,  dirty  and  shabbily  clad.  Still,  her 
great  black  eyes,  her  coarse,  uncombed,  lustreless 
black  hair  falling  over  her  sun-burned  face,  her  red 
arms  and  feet  streaked  with  the  red  soil,  were  all 
familiar  to  him.  It  was  Melissa  Smith,  —  Smith's 
motherless  child. 

"  What  can  she  want  here  ? "  thought  the  master. 
Everybody  knew  "  Mliss,"  as  she  was  called, 
throughout  the  length  and  height  of  Eed  Moun- 
tain. Everybody  knew  her  as  an  incorrigible  girl. 
Her  fierce,  ungovernable  disposition,  her  mad  freaks 
and  lawless  character,  were  in  their  way  as  prover- 


MLISS.  127 

bial  as  the  story  of  her  father's  weaknesses,  and  as 
philosophically  accepted  by  the  townsfolk.  She 
wrangled  with  and  fought  the  school-boys  with 
keener  invective  and  quite  as  powerful  arm.  She 
followed  the  trails  with  a  woodman's  craft,  and  the 
master  had  met  her  before,  miles  away,  shoeless, 
stockingless,  and  bareheaded  on  the  mountain 
road.  The  miners'  camps  along  the  stream  sup- 
plied her  with  subsistence  during  these  voluntary 
pilgrimages,  in  freely  offered  alms.  Not  but  that 
a  larger  protection  had  been  previously  extended 
to  Mliss.  The  Eev.  Joshua  McSnagley,  "stated" 
preacher,  had  placed  her  in  the  hotel  as  servant, 
by  way  of  preliminary  refinement,  and  had  in- 
troduced her  to  his  scholars  at  Sunday  school. 
But  she  threw  plates  occasionally  at  the  landlord, 
and  quickly  retorted  to  the  cheap  witticisms  of  the 
guests,  and  created  in  the  Sabbath  school  a  sensa- 
tion that  was  so  inimical  to  the  orthodox  dulness 
and  placidity  of  that  institution,  that,  with  a  de- 
cent regard  for  the  starched  frocks  and  unblem- 
ished morals  of  the  two  pink-and-white-faced  chil- 
dren of  the  first  families,  the  reverend  gentleman 
had  her  ignominiously  expelled.  Such  were  the 
antecedents,  and  such  the  character  of  Mliss,  as  she 
stood  before  the  master.  It  was  shown  in  the 
ragged  dress,  the  unkempt  hair,  and  bleeding  feet, 
and  asked  his  pity.  It  flashed  from  her  black, 
fearless  eyes,  and  commanded  his  respect. 


128  MLISS. 

"  I  come  here  to-night/'  she  said  rapidly  and 
boldly,  keeping  her  hard  glance  on  his,  "  because  I 
knew  you  was  alone.  I  would  n't  come  here  when 
them  gals  was  here.  I  hate  'em  and  they  hates  me. 
That 's  why.  You  keep  school,  don't  you  ?  I  want 
to  be  teached  !  " 

If  to  the  shabbiness  of  her  apparel  and  uncome- 
liness  of  her  tangled  hair  and  dirty  face  she  had 
added  the  humility  of  tears,  the  master  would  have 
extended  to  her  the  usual  moiety  of  pity,  and 
nothing  more.  But  with  the  natural,  though  il- 
logical instincts  of  his  species,  her  boldness  awak- 
ened in  him  something  of  that  respect  which 
all  original  natures  pay  unconsciously  to  one  an- 
other in  any  grade.  And  he  gazed  at  her  the  more 
fixedly  as  she  went  on  still  rapidly,  her  hand  on 
that  door-latch  and  her  eyes  on  his  :  — 

"  My  name  's  Mliss,  —  Mliss  Smith  !  You  can  bet 
your  life  on  that.  My  father  's  Old  Smith,  —  Old 
Bummer  Smith,  —  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with 
him.  Mliss  Smith,  —  and  I  'm  coming  to  school ! " 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  master. 

Accustomed  to  be  thwarted  and  opposed,  often 
•wantonly  and  cruelly,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
excite  the  violent  impulses  of  her  nature,  the  mas- 
ter's phlegm  evidently  took  her  by  surprise.  She 
stopped ;  she  began  to  twist  a  lock  of  her  hair  be- 
tween her  fingers  ;  and  the  rigid  line  of  upper  lip, 
drawn  over  the  wicked  little  teeth,  relaxed  and 


MLISS.  129 

quivered  slightly.  Then  her  eyes  dropped,  and 
something  like  a  blush  struggled  up  to  her  cheek, 
and  tried  to  assert  itself  through  the  splashes  of 
redder  soil,  and  the  sunburn  of  years.  Suddenly 
she  threw  herself  forward,  calling  on  God  to  strike 
her  dead,  and  fell  quite  weak  and  helpless,  with 
her  face  on  the  master's  desk,  crying  and  sobbing 
as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

The  master  lifted  her  gently  and  waited  for  the 
paroxysm  to  pass.  When  with  face  still  averted, 
she  was  repeating  between  her  sobs  the  mea  culpa 
of  childish  penitence,  —  that  "  she  'd  be  good,  she 
did  n't  mean  to,"  etc.,  it  came  to  him  to  ask  her 
why  she  had  left  Sabbath  school. 

Why  had  she  left  the  Sabbath  school  ?  —  why  ? 
0  yes.  What  did  he  (McSnagley)  want  to  tell 
her  she  was  wicked  for  ?  What  did  he  tell  her 
that  God  hated  her  for  ?  If  God  hated  her,  what 
did  she  want  to  go  to  Sabbath  school  for  ?  She 
did  n't  want  to  be  "  benolden  "  to  anybody  who 
hated  her. 

Had  she  told  McSnagley  this  ? 

Yes,  she  had. 

The  master  laughed.  It  was  a  hearty  laugh, 
and  echoed  so  oddly  in  the  little  school-house,  and 
seemed  so  inconsistent  and  discordant  with  the 
sighing  of  the  pines  without,  that  he  shortly 
corrected  himself  with  a  sigh.  The  sigh  was 
quite  as  sincere  in  its  way,  however,  and  after  a 

6*  I 


130  MLISS. 

moment  of  serious  silence  he  asked  about  her 
father. 

Her  father?  What  father?  Whose  father? 
What  had  he  ever  done  for  her  ?  Why  did  the 
girls  hate  her  ?  Come  now  !  what  made  the 
folks  say,  "  Old  Bummer  Smith's  Mliss  ! "  when  she 
passed  ?  Yes  ;  0  yes.  She  wished  he  was  dead, 
—  she  was  dead,  —  everybody  was  dead ;  and  her 
sobs  broke  forth  anew. 

The  master  then,  leaning  over  her,  told  her  as 
well  as  he  could  what  you  or  I  might  have  said 
after  hearing  such  unnatural  theories  from  child- 
ish lips ;  only  bearing  in  mind  perhaps  better  than 
you  or  I  the  unnatural  facts  of  her  ragged  dress, 
her  bleeding  feet,  and  the  omnipresent  shadow  of 
her  drunken  father.  Then,  raising  her  to  her  feet, 
he  wrapped  his  shawl  around  her,  and,  bidding  her 
come  early  in  the  morning,  he  walked  with  her 
down  the  road.  There  he  bade  her  "good  night." 
The  moon  shone  brightly  on  the  narrow  path  be- 
fore them.  He  stood  and  watched  the  bent  little 
figure  as  it  staggered  down  the  road,  and  waited 
until  it  had  passed  the  little  graveyard  and 
reached  the  curve  of  the  hill,  where  it  turned  and 
stood  for  a  moment,  a  mere  atom  of  suffering  out- 
lined against  the  far-off  patient  stars.  Then  he 
went  back  to  his  work.  But  the  lines  of  the  copy- 
book thereafter  faded  into  long  parallels  of  never- 
ending  road,  over  which  childish  figures  seemed  to 


MLISS.  131 

pass  sobbing  and  crying  into  the  night.  Then,  the 
little  school-house  seeming  lonelier  than  before,  he 
shut  the  door  and  went  home. 

The  next  morning  Mliss  came  to  school.  Her 
face  had  been  washed,  and  her  coarse  black  hair 
bore  evidence  of  recent  struggles  with  the  comb, 
in  which  both  had  evidently  suffered.  The  old 
defiant  look  shone  occasionally  in  her  eyes,  but  her 
manner  was  tamer  and  more  subdued.  Then  be- 
gan a  series  of  little  trials  and  self-sacrifices,  in 
w^hich  master  and  pupil  bore  an  equal  part,  and 
which  increased  the  confidence  and  sympathy  be- 
tween them.  Although  obedient  under  the  mas- 
ter's eye,  at  times  during  recess,  if  thwarted  or 
stung  by  a  fancied  slight,  Mliss  would  rage  in  un- 
governable fury,  and  many  a  palpitating  young 
savage,  finding  himself  matched  with  his  own 
weapons  of  torment,  would  seek  the  master  with 
torn  jacket  and  scratched  face,  and  complaints  of 
the  dreadful  Mliss.  There  was  a  serious  division 
among  the  townspeople  on  the  subject ;  some 
threatening  to  withdraw  their  children  from  such 
evil  companionship,  and  others  as  warmly  uphold- 
ing the  course  of  the  master  in  his  work  of  rec- 
lamation. Meanwhile,  with  a  steady  persistence 
that  seemed  quite  astonishing  to  him  on  looking 
back  afterward,  the  master  drew  Mliss  gradually 
out  of  the  shadow  of  her  past  life,  as  though  it 
were  but  her  natural  progress  down  the  narrow 


132  MLISS. 

path  on  which  he  had  set  her  feet  the  moonlit 
night  of  their  first  meeting.  Eemembering  the 
experience  of  the  evangelical  McSnagley,  he  care- 
fully avoided  that  Kock  of  Ages  on  which  that 
unskilful  pilot  had  shipwrecked  her  young  faith. 
But  if,  in  the  course  of  her  reading,  she  chanced 
to  stumble  upon  those  few  words  which  have  lifted 
such  as  she  above  the  level  of  the  older,  the  wiser, 
and  the  more  prudent,  —  if  she  learned  something 
of  a  faith  that  is  symbolized  by  suffering,  and  the 
old  light  softened  in  her  eyes,  it  did  not  take 
the  shape  of  a  lesson.  A  few  of  the  plainer  people 
had  made  up  a  little  sum  by  which  the  ragged 
Mliss  was  enabled  to  assume  the  garments  of  re- 
spect and  civilization ;  and  often  a  rough  shake  of 
the  hand,  and  words  of  homely  commendation  from 
a  red-shirted  and  burly  figure,  sent  a  glow  to  the 
cheek  of  the  young  master,  and  set  him  to  think- 
ing if  it  was  altogether  deserved. 

Three  months  had  passed  from  the  time  of  their 
first  meeting,  and  the  master  was  sitting  late  one 
evening  over  the  moral  and  sententious  copies, 
when  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  again  Mliss 
stood  before  him.  She  was  neatly  clad  and  clean- 
faced,  and  there  was  nothing  perhaps  but  the  long 
black  hair  and  bright  black  eyes  to  remind  him  of 
his  former  apparition.  "  Are  you  busy  ? "  she 
asked.  "  Can  you  come  with  me  ? "  —  and  on  his 
signifying  his  readiness,  in  her  old  wilful  way  she 
said,  "  Come,  then,  quick  ! " 


MLISS.  133 

They  passed  out  of  the  door  together  and  into 
the  dark  road.  As  they  entered  the  town  the 
master  asked  her  whither  she  was  going.  She  re- 
plied, "  To  see  my  father." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  heard  her  call  him 
by  that  filial  title,  or  indeed  anything  more  than 
"  Old  Smith  "  or  the  "  Old  Man."  It  was  the  first 
time  in  three  months  that  she  had  spoken  of  him 
at  all,  and  the  master  knew  she  had  kept  res- 
olutely aloof  from  him  since  her  great  change. 
Satisfied  from  her  manner  that  it  was  fruitless  to 
question  her  purpose,  he  passively  followed.  In 
out-of-the-way  places,  low  groggeries,  restaurants, 
and  saloons ;  in  gambling-hells  and  dance-houses, 
the  master,  preceded  by  Mliss,  came  and  went.  In 
the  reeking  smoke  and  blasphemous  outcries  of 
low  dens,  the  child,  holding  the  master's  hand, 
stood  and  anxiously  gazed,  seemingly  unconscious 
of  all  in  the  one  absorbing  nature  of  her  pursuit. 
Some  of  the  revellers,  recognizing  Mliss,  called  to 
the  child  to  sing  and  dance  for  them,  and  would 
have  forced  liquor  upon  her  but  for  the  interfer- 
ence of  the  master.  Others,  recognizing  him  mute- 
ly, made  way  for  them  to  pass.  So  an  hour  slipped 
by.  Then  the  child  whispered  in  his  ear  that  there 
was  a  cabin  on  the  other  side  of  the  creek  crossed 
by  the  long  flume,  where  she  thought  he  still  might 
be.  Thither  they  crossed,  —  a  toilsome  half-hour's 
walk,  —  but  in  vain.  They  were  returning  by  the 


134  MLISS. 

ditch  at  the  abutment  of  the  flume,  gazing  at  the> 
lights  of  the  town  on  the  opposite  bank,  when, 
suddenly,  sharply,  a  quick  report  rang  out  on  tha 
clear  night  air.  The  echoes  caught  it,  and  carried 
it  round  and  round  Red  Mountain,  and  set  the  dogs 
to  barking  all  along  the  streams.  Lights  seemed 
to  dance  and  move  quickly  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town  for  a  few  moments,  the  stream  rippled  quite 
audibly  beside  them,  a  few  stones  loosened  them- 
selves from  the  hillside  and  splashed  into  the 
stream,  a  heavy  wind  seemed  to  surge  the  branches 
of  the  funereal  pines,  and  then  the  silence  seemed 
to  fall  thicker,  heavier,  and  deadlier.  The  master 
turned  towards  Mliss  with  an  unconscious  gesture 
of  protection,  but  the  child  had  gone.  Oppressed 
by  a  strange  fear,  he  ran  quickly  down  the  trail  to 
the  river's  bed,  and,  jumping  from  boulder  to  boul- 
der, reached  the  base  of  Red  Mountain  and  the 
outskirts  of  the  village.  Midway  of  the  crossing 
he  looked  up  and  held  his  breath  in  awe.  For 
high  above  him  on  the  narrow  flume  he  saw  the 
fluttering  little  figure  of  his  late  companion  cross- 
ing swiftly  in  the  darkness. 

He  climbed  the  bank,  and,  guided  by  a  few  lights 
moving  about  a  central  point  on  the  mountain, 
soon  found  himself  breathless  among  a  crowd  of 
awe-stricken  and  sorrowful  men.  Out  from  among 
them  the  child  appeared,  and,  taking  the  master's 
hand,  led  him  silently  before  what  seemed  a  ragged 


MLISS.  135 

hole  in  the  mountain.  *  Her  face  was  quite  white, 
but  her  excited  manner  gone,  and  her  look  that  of 
one  to  whom  some  long-expected  event  had  at  last 
happened,  —  an  expression  that  to  the  master  in 
his  bewilderment  seemed  almost  like  relief.  The 
walls  of  the  cavern  were  partly  propped  by  decay- 
ing timbers.  The  child  pointed  to  what  appeared 
to  be  some  ragged,  cast-off  clothes  left  in  the  hole 
by  the  late  occupant.  The  master  approached 
nearer  with  his  naming  dip,  and  bent  over  them. 
It  was  Smith,  already  cold,  with  a  pistol  in  his 
hand  and  a  bullet  in  his  heart,  lying  beside  his 
empty  pocket. 


CHAPTEE    II. 

THE  opinion  which  McSnagley  expressed  in 
reference  to  a  "  change  of  heart "  supposed  to 
be  experienced  by  Mliss  was  more  forcibly  de- 
scribed in  the  gulches  and  tunnels.  It  was 
thought  there  that  Mliss  had  "struck  a  good 
lead."  So  when  there  was  a  new  grave  added  to 
the  little  enclosure,  and  at  the  expense  of  the 
master  a  little  board  and  inscription  put  above  it, 
the  Red  Mountain  Banner  came  out  quite  hand- 
somely, and  did  the  fair  thing  to  the  memory  of 
one  of  "  our  oldest  Pioneers,"  alluding  gracefully 


136  MLISS. 

to  that  "  bane  of  noble  intellects,"  and  otherwise 
genteelly  shelving  our  dear  brother  with  the  past. 
"  He  leaves  an  only  child  to  mourn  his  loss,"  says 
the  Banner,  "  who  is  now  an  exemplary  scholar, 
thanks  to  the  efforts  of  the  Eev.  Mr.  McSnagley." 
The  Eev.  McSnagley,  in  fact,  made  a  strong  point 
of  Mliss's  conversion,  and,  indirectly  attributing  to 
the  unfortunate  child  the  suicide  of  her  father, 
made  affecting  allusions  in  Sunday  school  to  the 
beneficial  effects  of  the  "  silent  tomb,"  and  in  this 
cheerful  contemplation  drove  most  of  the  children 
into  speechless  horror,  and  caused  the  pink-and- 
white  scions  of  the  first  families  to  howl  dismally 
and  refuse  to  be  comforted. 

The  long  dry  summer  came.  As  each  fierce  day 
burned  itself  out  in  little  whiffs  'of  pearl-gray 
smoke  on  the  mountain  summits,  and  the  up- 
springing  breeze  scattered  its  red  embers  over  the 
landscape,  the  green  wave  which  in  early  spring 
upheaved  above  Smith's  grave  grew  sere  and  dry 
and  hard.  In  those  days  the  master,  strolling  in 
the  little  churchyard  of  a  Sabbath  afternoon,  was 
sometimes  surprised  to  find  a  few  wild-flowers 
plucked  from  the  damp  pine-forests  scattered 
there,  and  oftener  rude  wreaths  hung  upon  the 
little  pine  cross.  Most  of  these  wreaths  were 
formed  of  a  sweet-scented  grass,  which  the  chil- 
dren loved  to  keep  in  their  desks,  intertwined 
with  the  plumes  of  the  buckeye,  the  syringa, 


MLISS.  137 

and  the  wood-anemone;  and  here  and  there  the 
master  noticed  the  dark  blue  cowl  of  the  monk's- 
hood,  or  deadly  aconite.  There  was  something 
in  the  odd  association  of  this  noxious  plant  with 
these  memorials  which  occasioned  a  painful  sensa- 
tion to  the  master  deeper  than  his  esthetic  sense. 
One  day,  during  a  long  walk,  in  crossing  a  wooded 
ridge  he  came  upon  Mliss  in  the  heart  of  the  for- 
est, perched  upon  a  prostrate  pine,  on  a  fantastic 
throne  formed  by  the  hanging  plumes  of  lifeless 
branches,  her  lap  full  of  grasses  and  pine-burrs, 
and  crooning  to  herself  one  of  the  negro  melodies 
of  her  younger  life.  '  Recognizing  him  at  a  dis- 
tance, she  made  room  for  him  on  her  elevated 
throne,  and  with  a  grave  assumption  of  hospitality 
and  patronage  that  would  have  been  ridiculous 
had  it  not  been  so  terribly  earnest,  she  fed  him 
with  pine-nuts  and  crab-apples.  The  master  took 
that  opportunity  to  point  out  to  her  the  noxious 
and  deadly  qualities  of  the  monk's-hood,  whose 
dark  blossoms  he  saw  in  her  lap,  and  extorted 
from  her  a  promise  not  to  meddle  with  it  as  long 
as  she  remained  his  pupil.  This  done,  —  as  the 
master  had  tested  her  integrity  before,  —  he  rested 
satisfied,  and  the  strange  feeling  which  had  over- 
come him  on  seeing  them  died  away. 

Of  the  homes  that  were  offered  Mliss  when  her 
conversion  became  known,  the  master  preferred 
that  of  Mrs.  Morpher,  a  womanly  and  kind-hearted 


138  MLISS. 

specimen  of  Southwestern  efflorescence,  known  in 
her  maidenhood  as  the  "  Per-rairie  Eose."  Being 
one  of  those  who  contend  resolutely  against  their 
own  natures,  Mrs.  Morpher,  by  a  long  series  of  self- 
sacrifices  and  struggles,  had'at  last  subjugated  her 
naturally  careless  disposition  to  principles  of  "  or- 
der," which  she  considered,  in  common  with  Mr. 
Pope,  as  "  Heaven's  first  law."  But  she  could  not 
entirely  govern  the  orbits  of  her  satellites,  however 
regular  her  own  movements,  and  even  her  own 
"  Jeemes "  sometimes  collided  with  her.  Again 
her  old  nature  asserted  itself  in  her  children.  Ly- 
curgus  dipped  into  the  cupboard  "  between  meals," 
and  Aristides  came  home  from  school  without 
shoes,  leaving  those  important  articles  on  the 
threshold,  for  the  delight  of  a  barefooted  walk 
down  the  ditches.  Octavia  and  Cassandra  were 
"  keerless  "  of  their  clothes.  So  with  but  one  ex- 
ception, however  much  the  "  Prairie  Eose  "  might 
have  trimmed  and  pruned  and  trained  her  own 
matured  luxuriance,  the  little  shoots  came  up 
defiantly  wild  and  straggling.  That  one  exception 
was  Clytemnestra  'Morpher,  aged  fifteen.  She  was 
the  realization  of  her  mother's  immaculate  con- 
ception, —  neat,  orderly,  and  dull. 

It  was  an  amiable  weakness  of  Mrs.  Morpher 
to  imagine  that  "Clytie"  was  a  consolation  and 
model  for  Mliss.  Following  thfs  fallacy,  Mrs.  Mor- 
pher threw  Clytie  at  the  head  of  Mliss  when  she 


MLISS.  139 

was  "bad,"  and  set  her  up  before  the  child  for 
adoration  in  her  penitential  moments.  It  was  not, 
therefore,  surprising  to  the  master  to  hear  that 
Clytie  was  coming  to  school,  obviously  as  a  favor 
to  the  master  and  as  an  example  for  Mliss  and 
others.  For  "Clytie"  was  quite  a  young  lady. 
Inheriting  her  mother's  physical  peculiarities,  and 
in  obedience  to  the  climatic  laws  of  the  Red 
Mountain  region,  she  was  an  early  bloomer.  The 
youth  of  Smith's  Pocket,  to  whom  this  kind  of 
flower  was  rare,  sighed  for  her  in  April  and  lan- 
guished in  May.  Enamored  swains  haunted  the 
school-house  at  the  hour  of  dismissal.  A  few 
were  jealous  of  the  master. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  latter  circumstance  that 
opened  the  master's  eyes  to  another.  He  could 
not  help  noticing  that  Clytie  was  romantic ;  that 
in  school  she  required  a  great  deal  of  attention  ; 
that  her  pens  were  uniformly  bad  and  wanted  fix- 
ing ;  that  she  usually  accompanied  the  request 
with  a  certain  expectation  in  her  eye  that  was 
somewhat  disproportionate  to  the  quality  of  ser- 
vice she  verbally  required ;  that  she  sometimes 
allowed  the  curves  of  a  round,  plump  white  arm 
to  rest  on  his  when  he  was  writing  her  copies ; 
that  she  always  blushed  and  flung  back  her  blond 
curls  when  she  did  so.  I  don't  remember  whether 
I  have  stated  that  the  master  was  a  young  man,  — 
it 's  of  little  consequence,  however ;  he  had  been 


140  MLISS. 

severely  educated  in  the  school  in  which  Clytie 
was  taking  her  first  lesson,  and,  on  the '  whole, 
withstood  the  flexible  curves  and  factitious  glance 
like  the  fine  young  Spartan  that  he  was.  Perhaps 
an  insufficient  quality  of  food  may  have  tended  to 
this  asceticism.  He  generally  avoided  Clytie  ;  but 
one  evening,  when  she  returned  to  the  school- 
house  after  something  she  had  forgotten,  and  did 
not  find  it  until  the  master  walked  home  with 
her,  I  hear  that  he  endeavored  to  make  himself 
particularly  agreeable,  —  partly  from  the  fact,  I 
imagine,  that  his  conduct  was  adding  gall  and 
bitterness  to  the  already  overcharged  hearts  of 
Clytemnestra's  admirers. 

The  morning  after  this  affecting  episode  Mliss 
did  not  come  to  school.  ISToon  came,  but  not  Mliss. 
Questioning  Clytie  on  the  subject,  it  appeared  that 
they  had  left  the  school  together,  but  the  wilful 
Mliss  had  taken  another  road.  The  afternoon 
brought  her  not.  In  the  evening  he  called  on  Mrs. 
Morpher,  whose  motherly  heart  was  really  alarmed. 
Mr.  Morpher  had  spent  all  day  in  search  of  her, 
without  discovering  a  trace  that  might  lead  to  her 
discovery.  Aristides  was  summoned  as  a  probable 
accomplice,  but  that  equitable  infant  succeeded 
in  impressing  the  household  with  his  innocence. 
Mrs.  Morpher  entertained  a  vivid  impression  that 
the  child  would  yet  be  found  drowned  in  a  ditch, 
or,  what  was  almost  as  terrible,  muddied  and  soiled 


MLISS.  141 

beyond  the  redemption  of  soap  and  water.  Sick 
at  heart,  the  master  returned  to  the  school-house. 
As  he  lit  his  lamp  and  seated  himself  at  his  desk, 
he  found  a  note  lying  before  him  addressed  to  him- 
self, in  Mliss's  handwriting.  It  seemed  to  be  writ- 
ten on  a  leaf  torn  from  some  old  memorandum- 
book,  and,  to  prevent  sacrilegious  trifling,  had  been 
sealed  with  six  broken  wafers.  Opening  it  almost 
tenderly,  the  master  read  as  follows  :  — 

RESPECTED  SIR, —  When  you  read  this,  I  am  run 
away.  Never  to  come  back.  Never,  NEVER,  NEVER. 
You  can  give  my  beeds  to  Mary  Jennings,  and  my 
Amerika's  Pride  [a  highly  colored  lithograph  from  a 
tobacco-box]  to  Sally  Flanders.  But  don't  you  give 
anything  to  Clytie  Morpher.  Don't  you  dare  to.  Do 
you  know  what  my  oppinion  is  of  her,  it  is  this,  she  is 
perfekly  disgustin.  That  is  all  and  no  more  at  pres- 
ent from 

Yours  respectfully, 

MELISSA  SMITH. 

The  master  sat  pondering  on  this  strange  epistle 
till  the  moon  lifted  its  bright  face  above  the  dis- 
tant hills,  and  illuminated  the  trail  that  led  to  the 
school-house,  beaten  quite  hard  with  the  coming 
and  going  of  little  feet.  Then,  more  satisfied  in 
mind,  he  tore  the  missive  into  fragments  and  scat- 
tered them  along  the  road. 

At  sunrise  the  next  morning  he  was  picking  his 
way  through  the  palm-like  fern  and  thick  under- 


142  MLISS. 

"brush  of  the  pine-forest,  starting  the  hare  from  its 
form,  and  awakening  a  querulous  protest  from  a 
few  dissipated  crows,  who  had  evidently  been  mak- 
ing a  night  of  it,  and  so  came  to  the  wooded  ridge 
where  he  had  once  found  Mliss.  There  he  found 
the  prostrate  pine  and  tasselled  branches,  but  the 
throne  was  vacant.  As  he  drew  nearer,  what  might 
have  been  some  frightened  animal  started  through 
the  crackling  limbs.  It  ran  up  the  tossed  arms  of 
the  fallen  monarch,  and  sheltered  itself  in  some 
friendly  foliage.  The  master,  reaching  the  old  seat, 
found  the  nest  still  warm ;  looking  up  in  the  inter- 
twining branches,  he  met  the  black  eyes  of  the 
errant  Mliss.  They  gazed  at  each  other  without 
speaking.  She  was  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  she  asked  curtly. 

The  master  had  decided  on  a  course  of  action. 
"  I  want  some  crab-apples,"  he  said  humbly. 

"  Sha'  n't  have  'em  !  go  away.  Why  don't  you 
get  'em  of  Clytemnerestera  ? "  (It  seemed  to  be  a 
relief  to  Mliss  to  express  her  contempt  in  addi- 
tional syllables  to  that  classical  young  woman's 
already  long-drawn  title.)  "  0  you  wicked  thing  ! " 

"I  am  hungry,  Lissy.  I  have  eaten  nothing 
since  dinner  yesterday.  I  am  famished ! "  and  the 
young  man  in  a  state  of  remarkable  exhaustion 
leaned  against  the  tree. 

Melissa's  heart  was  touched.  In  the  bitter  days 
of  her  gypsy  life  she  had  known  the  sensation  he 


MUSS.  143 

so  artfully  simulated.  Overcome  by  his  heart- 
broken tone,  but  not  entirely  divested  of  suspicion, 
she  said,  — 

"  Dig  under  the  tree  near  the  roots,  and  you  '11 
find  lots ;  but  mind  you  don't  tell,"  for  Mliss  had 
her  hoards  as  well  as  the  rats  and  squirrels. 

But  the  master,  of  course,  was  unable  to  find 
them ;  the  effects  of  hunger  probably  blinding  his 
senses.  Mliss  grew  uneasy.  At  length  she  peered 
at  him  through  the  leaves  in  an  elfish  way,  and 
questioned,  — 

"If  I  come  down  and  give  you  some,  you'll 
promise  you  won't  touch  me  ? " 

The  master  promised. 

"  Hope  you  '11  die  if  you  do  ! " 

The  master  accepted  instant  dissolution  as  a 
forfeit.  Mliss  slid  down  the  tree.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments nothing  transpired  but  the  munching  of  the 
pine-nuts.  "  Do  you  feel  better  ? "  she  asked,  with 
some  solicitude.  The  master  confessed  to  a  recu- 
perated feeling,  and  then,  gravely  thanking  her, 
proceeded  to  retrace  his  steps.  As  he  expected,  he 
had  not  gone  far  before  she  called  him.  He  turned. 
She  was  standing  there  quite  white,  with  tears  in 
her  widely  opened  orbs.  The  master  felt  that  the 
right  moment  had  come.  Going  up  to  her,  he  took 
both  her  hands,  and,  looking  in  her  tearful  eyes, 
said,  gravely,  "Lissy,  do  you  remember  the  first 
evening  you  came  to  see  me  ? " 


144  MLISS. 

Lissy  remembered. 

"  You  asked  me  if  you  might  come  to  school, 
for  you  wanted  to  learn  something  and  be  better, 
and  I  said  —  " 

"  Come,"  responded  the  child,  promptly. 

"  What  would  you  say  if  the  master  now  came 
to  you  and  said  that  he  was  lonely  without  his  little 
scholar,  and  that  he  wanted  her  to  come  and  teach 
him  to  be  better  ? " 

The  child  hung  her  head  for  a  few  moments  in 
silence.  The  master  waited  patiently.  Tempted 
by  the  quiet,  a  hare  ran  close  to  the  couple,  and 
raising  her  bright  eyes  and  velvet  forepaws,  sat  and 
gazed  at  them.  A  squirrel  ran  half-way  down 
the  furrowed  bark  of  the  fallen  tree,  and  there 
stopped. 

"  We  are  waiting,  Lissy,"  said  the  master,  in  a 
whisper,  and  the  child  smiled.  Stirred  by  a  pass- 
ing breeze,  the  tree-tops  rocked,  and  a  long  pencil 
of  light  stole  through  their  interlaced  boughs  full 
on  the  doubting  face  and  irresolute  little  figure. 
Suddenly  she  took  the  master's  hand  in  her  quick 
way.  What  she  said  was  scarcely  audible,  but  the 
master,  putting  the  black  hair  back  from  her  fore- 
head, kissed  her ;  and  so,  hand  in  hand,  they  passed 
out  of  the  damp  aisles  and  forest  odors  into  the 
open  sunlit  road. 


MLISS.  145 


CHAPTEE  III. 

SOMEWHAT  less  spiteful  in  her  intercourse  with 
other  scholars,  Mliss  still  retained  an  offensive 
attitude  in  regard  to  Clytemnestra.  Perhaps  the 
jealous  element  was  not  entirely  lulled  in  her 
passionate  little  breast.  Perhaps  it  was  only  that 
the  round  curves  and  plump  outline  offered  more 
extended  pinching  surface.  But  while  such  ebul- 
litions were  under  the  master's  control,  her  en- 
mity occasionally  took  a  new  and  irrepressible 
form. 

The  master  in  his  first  estimate  of  the  child's 
character  could  not  conceive  that  she  had  ever 
possessed  a  doll.  But  the  master,  like  many  other 
professed  readers  of  character,  was  safer  in  a  pos- 
teriori than  a  priori  reasoning.  Mliss  had  a  doll, 
but  then  it  was  emphatically  Mliss's  doll, — a  small- 
er copy  of  herself.  Its  unhappy  existence  had 
been  a  secret  discovered  accidentally  by  Mrs.  Mor- 
pher.  It  had  been  the  old-time  companion  of 
Mliss's  wanderings,  and  bore  evident  marks  of  , 
suffering.  Its  original  complexion  was  long  since 
washed  away  by  the  weather  and  anointed  by  the 
slime  of  ditches.  It  looked  very  much  as  Mliss 
had  in  days  past.  Its  one  gown  of  faded  stuff  was 
dirty  and  ragged  as  hers  had  been.  Mliss  had 


146  MLISS. 

never  been  known  to  apply  to  it  any  childish 
term  of  endearment.  She  never  exhibited  it  in 
the  presence  of  other  children.  It  was  put  severely 
to  bed  in  a  hollow  tree  near  the  school-house,  and 
only  allowed  exercise  during  Mliss's  rambles.  Ful- 
filling a  stern  duty  to  her  doll,  as  she  would  to 
herself,  it  knew  no  luxuries. 

Now  Mrs.  Morpher,  obeying  a  commendable 
impulse,  bought  another  doll  and  gave  it  to  Mliss. 
The  child  received  it  gravely -and  curiously.  The 
master  on  looking  at  it  one  day  fancied  he  saw  a 
slight  resemblance  in  its  round  red  cheeks  and 
mild  blue  eyes  to  Clytemnestra.  It  became  evi- 
dent before  long  that  Mliss  had  also  noticed  the 
same  resemblance.  Accordingly  she  hammered  its 
waxen  head  on  the  ro'cks  when  she  was  alone,  and 
sometimes  dragged  it  with  a  string  round  its  neck 
to  and  from  school.  At  other  times,  setting  it  up 
on  her  desk,  she  made  a  pin-cushion  of  its  patient 
and  inoffensive  body.  Whether  this  was  done  in 
revenge  of  what  she  considered  a  second  figura- 
tive obtrusion  of  Clytie's  excellences  upon  her,  or 
whether  she  had  an  intuitive  appreciation  of  the 
rites  of  certain  other  heathens,  and,  indulging  in 
that  "Fetish"  ceremony,  imagined  that  the  original 
of  her  wax  model  would  pine  away  and  finally  die,  is 
a  metaphysical  question  I  shall  not  now  consider. 

In  spite  of  these  moral  vagaries,  the  master 
could  not  help  noticing  in  her  different  tasks  the 


MLISS.  147 

working  of  a  quick,  restless,  and  vigorous  percep- 
tion. She  knew  neither  the  hesitancy  nor  the 
doubts  of  childhood.  Her  answers  in  class  were 
always  slightly  dashed  with  audacity.  Of  course 
she  was  not  infallible.  But  her  courage  and  dar- 
ing in  passing  beyond  her  own  depth  and  that 
of  the  floundering  little  swimmers  around  her,  in 
their  minds  outweighed  all  errors  of  judgment. 
Children  are  not  better  than  grown  people  in  this 
respect,  I  fancy  ;  and  whenever  the  little  red  hand 
flashed  above  her  desk,  there  was  a  wondering 
silence,  and  even  the  master  was  sometimes  op- 
pressed with  a  doubt  of  his  own  experience  and 
judgment. 

Nevertheless,  certain  attributes  which  at  first- 
amused  and  entertained  his  fancy  began  to  afflict 
him  with  grave  doubts.  He  could  not  but  see  that 
Mliss  was  revengeful,  irreverent,  and  wilful.  That 
there  was  but  one  better  quality  which  pertained 
to  her  semi-savage  disposition,  —  the  faculty  of 
physical  fortitude  and  self-sacrifice,  and  another, 
though  not  always  an  attribute  of  the  noble  savage, 
—  Truth.  Mliss  was  both  fearless  and  sincere ; 
perhaps  in  such  a  character  the  adjectives  were 
synonymous. 

The  master  had  been  doing  some  hard  thinking 
on  this  subject,  and  had  arrived  at  that  conclusion 
quite  common  to  all  who  think  sincerely,  that  he 
was  generally  the  slave  of  his  own  prejudices, 


148  MLISS. 

when  he  determined  to  call  on  the  Eev.  Mc- 
Snagley  for  advice.  This  decision  was  somewhat 
humiliating  to  his  pride,  as  he  and  McSnagley  were 
not  friends.  But  he  thought  of  Mliss,  and  the 
evening  of  their  first  meeting ;  and  perhaps  with 
a  pardonable  superstition  that  it  was  not  chance 
alone  that  had  guided  her  wilful  feet  to  the  school- 
house,  and  perhaps  with  a  complacent  conscious- 
ness of  the  rare  magnanimity  of  the  act,  he  choked 
back  his  dislike  and  went  to  McSnagley. 

The  reverend  gentleman  was  glad  to  see  him. 
Moreover,  he  observed  that  the  master  was  looking 
"  peartish,"  and  hoped  he  had  got  .over  the  "  neu- 
ralgy "  and  "  rheumatiz."  He  himself  had  been 
troubled  with  a  dumb  "  ager  "  since  last  conference. 
But  he  had  learned  to  "  rastle  and  pray." 

Pausing  a  moment  to  enable  the  master  to  write 
his  certain  method  of  curing  the  dumb  "ager" 
upon  the  book  and  volume  of  his  brain,  Mr.  Mc- 
Snagley proceeded  to  inquire  after  Sister  Morplier. 
"  She  is  an  adornment  to  Christianity,  and  has  a 
likely  growin'  young  family,"  added  Mr.  McSnag- 
ley ;  "  and  there  's  that  mannerly  young  gal,  —  so  , 
well  behaved,  — Miss  Clytie."  In  fact,  Clytie's  ( 
perfections  seemed  to  affect  him  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  dwelt  for  several  minutes  upon  them.  The 
master  was  doubly  embarrassed.  In  the  first  place, 
there  was  an  enforced  contrast  with  poor  Mliss 
in  all  this  praise  of  Clytie.  Secondly,  there  was 


MLISS.  149 

something  unpleasantly  confidential  in  his  tone  of 
speaking  of  Mrs.  Morpher's  earliest  born.  So  that 
the  master,  after  a  few  futile  efforts  to  say  some- 
thing natural,  found  it  convenient  to  recall  an- 
other engagement,  and  left  without  asking  the 
information  required,  but  in  his  after  reflections 
somewhat  unjustly  giving  the  Rev.  Mr.  McSnag- 
ley  the  full  benefit  of  having  refused  it. 

Perhaps  this  rebuff  placed  the  master  and  pupil 
once  more  in  the  close  communion  of  old.  The 
child  seemed  to  notice  the  change  in  the  master's 
manner,  which  had  of  late  been  constrained,  and  in 
one  of  their  long  post-prandial  walks  she  stopped 
suddenly,  and,  mounting  a  stump,  looked  full  in 
his  face  with  big,  searching  eyes.  "You  ain't  mad  ?" 
said  she,  with  an  interrogative  shake  of  the  black 
braids.  "No."  "  Nor  bothered  ?"  "No."  "Nor 
hungry?"  (Hunger  was  to  Mliss  a  sickness  that 
might  attack  a  person  at  any  moment.)  "No." 
"Nor  thinking  of  her?"  "Of  whom,  Lissy?" 
"  That  white  girl."  (This  was  the  latest  epithet 
invented  by  Mliss,  who  was  a  very  dark  brunette, 
to  express  Clytemnestra.)  "  No."  "  Upon  your 
word  ? "  (A  substitute  for  "  Hope  you  11  die  ! " 
proposed  by  the  master.)  "  Yes."  "  And  sacred 
honor  ? "  "  Yes."  Then  Mliss  gave  him  a  fierce 
little  kiss,  and,  hopping  down,  fluttered  off.  For 
two  or  three  days  after  that  she  condescended  to 
appear  more  like  other  children,  and  be,  as  she 
expressed  it,  "  good." 


150  MLISS. 

Two  years  had  passed  since  the  master's  advent 
at  Smith's  Pocket,  and  as  his  salary  was  not  large, 
and  the  prospects  of  Smith's  Pocket  eventually  be- 
coming the  capital  of  the  State  not  entirely  defi- 
nite, he  contemplated  a  change.  He  had  informed 
the  school  trustees  privately  of  his  intentions,  but, 
educated  young  men  of  unblemished  moral  charac- 
ter being  scarce  at  that  time,  he  consented  to  con- 
tinue his  school  term  through  the  winter  to  early 
spring.  None  else  knew  of  his  intention  except 
his  one  friend,  a  Dr.  Duchesne,  a  young  Creole 
physician  known  to  the  people  of  Wingdam  as 
"  Duchesny."  He  never  mentioned  it  to  Mrs.  Mor- 
pher,  Clytie,  or  any  of  his  scholars.  His  reticence 
was  partly  the  result  of  a  constitutional  indisposi- 
tion to  fuss,  partly  a  desire  to  be  spared  the  ques- 
tions and  surmises  of  vulgar  curiosity,  and  partly 
that  he  never  really  believed  he  was  going  to  do 
anything  before  it  was  done. 

He  did  not  like  to  think  of  Mliss.  It  was  a 
selfish  instinct,  perhaps,  which  made  him  try  to 
fancy  his  feeling  for  the  child  was  foolish,  roman- 
tic, and  unpractical-  He  even  tried  to  imagine 
that  she  would  do  better  under  the  control  of  an 
older  and  sterner  teacher.  Then  she  was  nearly 
eleven,  and  in  a  few  years,  by  the  rules  of  Red 
Mountain,  would  be  a  wToman.  He  had  done  his 
duty.  After  Smith's  death  he  addressed  letters  to 
Smith's  relatives,  and  received  one  answer  from  a 


MLISS.  151 

sister  of  Melissa's  mother.  Thanking  the  master, 
she  stated  her  intention  of  leaving  the  Atlantic 
States  for  California  with  her  husband  in  a  few 
months.  This  was  a  slight  superstructure  for  the 
airy  castle  which  the  master  pictured  for  Mliss's 
home,  but  it  was  easy  to  fancy  that  some  loving, 
sympathetic  woman,  with  the  claims  of  kindred, 
might  better  guide  her  wayward  nature.  Yet,  when 
the  master  had  read  the  letter,  Mliss  listened  to  it 
carelessly,  received  it  submissively,  and  afterwards 
cut  figures  out  of  it  with  her  scissors,  supposed  to 
represent  Clytemnestra,  labelled  "  the  white  girl," 
to  prevent  mistakes,  and  impaled  them  upon  the 
outer  walls  of  the  school-house. 

When  the  summer  was  about  spent,  and  the 
last  harvest  had  been  gathered  in  the  valleys,  the 
master  bethought  him  of  gathering  in  a  few  ri- 
pened shoots  of  the  young  idea,  and  of  having  his 
Harvest-Home,  or  Examination.  So  the  savans 
and  professionals  of  Smith's  Pocket  were  gathered 
to  witness  that  time-honored  custom  of  placing 
timid  children  in  a  constrained  position,  and  bully- 
ing them  as  in  a  witness-box.  As  usual  in  such 
cases,  the  most  audacious  and  self-possessed  were 
the  lucky  recipients  of  the  honors.  The  reader 
will  imagine  that  in  the  present  instance  Mliss 
and  Clytie  were  pre-eminent,  and  divided  public 
attention ;  Mliss  with  her  clearness  of  material 
perception  and  self-reliance,  Clytie  with  her  placid 


152  MLISS. 

self-esteem  and  saint-like  correctness  of  deport- 
ment. The  other  little  ones  were  timid  and  blun- 
dering. Mliss's  readiness  and  brilliancy,  of  course, 
captivated  the  greatest  number  and  provoked  the 
greatest  applause.  Mliss's  antecedents  had  uncon- 
sciously awakened  the  strongest  sympathies  of  a 
class  whose  athletic  forms  were  ranged  against  the 
Avails,  or  whose  handsome  bearded  faces  looked  in 
at  the  windows.  But  Mliss's  popularity  was  over- 
thrown by  an  unexpected  circumstance. 

McSnagley  had  invited  himself,  and  had  been 
going  through  the  pleasing  entertainment  of  fright- 
ening the  more  timid  pupils  by  the  vaguest  and  most 
ambiguous  questions  delivered  in  an  impressive  fu- 
nereal tone ;  and  Mliss  had  soared  into  Astronomy, 
and  was  tracking  the  course  of  our  spotted  ball 
through  space,  and  keeping  time  with  the  music  of 
the  spheres,  and  defining  the  tethered  orbits  of 
the  planets,  when  McSnagley  impressively  arose. 
"  Meelissy !  ye  were  speaking  of  the  revolutions 
of  this  yere  yearth  and  the  move-merits  of  the  sun, 
and  I  think  ye  said  it  had  been  a  doing  of  it  since 
the  creashun,  eh  ? "  Mliss  nodded  a  scornful  affirm- 
ative. "  Well,  war  that  the  truth  ? "  said  McSnag- 
ley, folding  his  arms.  "  Yes,"  said  Mliss,  shutting 
up  her  little  red  lips  tightly.  The  handsome  out- 
lines at  the  windows  peered  further  in  the  school- 
room, and  a  saintly  Eaphael-face,  with  blond  beard 
and  soft  blue  eyes,  belonging  to  the  biggest  scamp 


MLISS.  153 

in  the  diggings,  turned  toward  the  child  and  whis- 
pered, "  Stick  to  it,  Mliss  ! "  The  reverend  gentle- 
man heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  cast  a  compassionate 
glance  at  the  master,  then  at  the  children,  and 
then  rested  his  look  on  Clytie.  That  young  woman 
softly  elevated  her  round,  white  arm.  Its  seduc- 
tive curves  were  enhanced  by  a  gorgeous  and  mas- 
sive specimen  bracelet,  the  gift  of  one  of  her  hum- 
blest worshippers,  worn  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 
There  wTas  a  momentary  silence.  Clytie's  round 
cheeks  were  very  pink  and  soft.  Clytie's  big  eyes 
were  very  bright  and  blue.  Clytie's  low-necked 
white  book-muslin  rested  softly  on  Clytie's  white, 
plump  shoulders.  Clytie  looked  at  the  master,  and 
the  master  nodded.  Then  Clytie  spoke  softly  :  — 

"  Joshua  commanded  the  sun  to  stand  still,  and 
it  obeyed  him ! "  There  was  a  low  hum  of  ap- 
plause in  the  school-room,  a  triumphant  expression 
on  McSnagley's  face,  a  grave  shadow  on  the  mas- 
ter's, and  a  comical  look  of  disappointment  re- 
flected from  the  windows.  Mliss  skimmed  rapidly 
over  her  Astronomy,  and  then  shut  the  book  with 
a  loud  snap.  A  groan  burst  from  McSnagley,  an 
expression  of  astonishment  from  the  school-room, 
a  yell  from  the  windows,  as  Mliss  brought  her  red 
fist  down  on  the  desk,  with  the  emphatic  decla- 
ration, — 

"  It 's  a  d— n  lie.     I  don't  believe  it ! " 

7  * 


154  MLisa 


CHAPTEK    IV. 

THE  long  wet.  season  had  drawn  near  its  close. 
Signs  of  spring  were  visible  in  the  swelling  buds 
and  rushing  torrents.  The  pine-forests  exhaled 
the  fresher  spicery.  The  azaleas  were  already  bud- 
ding, the  Ceanothus  getting  ready  its  lilac  livery 
for  spring.  On  the  green  upland  which  climbed 
Eed  Mountain  at  its  southern  aspect  the  long 
spike  of  the  monk's-hood  shot  up  from  it's  broad- 
leaved  stool,  and  once  more  shook  its  dark-blue 
bells.  Again  the  billow  above  Smith's  grave  was 
soft  and  green,  its  crest  just  tossed  with  the  foam 
of  daisies  and  buttercups.  The  little  graveyard 
had  gathered  a  few  new  dwellers  in  the  past  year, 
and  the  mounds  were  placed  two  by  two  by  the 
little  paling  until  they  reached  Smith's  grave,  and 
there  there  was  but  one.  General  superstition 
had  shunned  it,  and  the  plot  beside  Smith  was 
vacant. 

There  had  been  several  placards  posted  about 
the  town,  intimating  that,  at  a  certain  period,  a 
celebrated  dramatic  company  would  perform,  for 
a  few  days,  a  series  of  "side-splitting"  and 
"  screaming  farces  "  ;  that,  alternating  pleasantly 
with  this,  there  would  be  some  melodrama  and  a 
grand  divertisement,  which  would  include  singing, 


MLISS.  155 

dancing,  etc.  These  announcements  occasioned  a 
great  fluttering  among  the  little  folk,  and  were 
the  theme  of  much  excitement  and  great  specu- 
lation among  the  master's  scholars.  The  master 
had  promised  Mliss,  to  whom  this  sort  of  thing 
was  sacred  and  rare,  that  she  should  go,  and  on 
that  momentous  evening  the  master  and  Mliss 
"  assisted." 

The  performance  was  the  prevalent  style  of 
heavy  mediocrity;  the  melodrama  was  not  bad 
enough  to  laugh  at  nor  good  enough  to  excite. 
But  the  master,  turning  wearily  to  the  child,  was 
astonished,  and  felt  something  like  self-accusation 
in  noticing  the  peculiar  effect  upon  her  excitable 
nature.  The  red  blood  flushed  in  her  cheeks  at 
each  stroke  of  her  panting  little  heart.  Her  small 
passionate  lips  were  slightly  parted  to  give  vent 
to  her  hurried  breath.  Her  widely  opened  lids 
threw  up  and  arched  her  black  eyebrows.  She  did 
not  laugh  at  the  dismal  comicalities  of  the  funny 
man,  for  Mliss  seldom  laughed.  Nor  was  she  dis- 
creetly affected  to  the  delicate  extremes  of  the 
corner  of  a  white  handkerchief,  as  was  the  tender- 
hearted "  Clytie,"  who  was  talking  with  her  "feller  " 
and  ogling  the  master  at  the  same  moment.  But 
when  the  performance  was  over,  and  the  green 
curtain  fell  on  the  little  stage,  Mliss  drew  a  long 
deep  breath,  and  turned  to  the  master's  grave  face 
with  a  half-apologetic  smile  and  wearied  gesture. 


156  MLISS. 

Then  she  said,  "  Now  take  me  home  ! "  and  dropped 
the  lids  of  her  black  eyes,  as  if  to  dwell  once  more 
in  fancy  on  the  mimic  stage. 

On  their  way  to  Mrs.  Morpher's  the  master 
thought  proper  to  ridicule  the  whole  performance. 
Now  he  should  n't  wonder  if  Mliss  thought  that 
the  young  lady  who  acted  so  beautifully  was 
really  in  earnest,  and  in  love  with  the  gentleman 
who  wore  such  fine  clothes.  Well,  if  she  were  in 
love  with  him  it  was  a  very  unfortunate  thing ! 
"  Why  ? "  said  Mliss,  with  an  upward  sweep  of  the 
drooping  lid.  "  Oh  !  well,  he  could  n't  support  his 
wife  at  his  present  salary,  and  pay  so  much  a  week 
for  his  fine  clothes,  and  then  they  would  n't  re- 
ceive as  much  wages  if  they  were  married  as  if 
they  were  merely  lovers,  —  that  is,"  added  the 
master,  "  if  they  are  not  already  married  to  some- 
body else ;  but  I  think  the  husband  of  the  pretty 
young  countess  takes  the  tickets  at  the  door,  or 
pulls  up  the  curtain,  or  snuffs  the  candles,  or  does 
something  equally  refined  and  elegant.  As  to  the 
young  man  with  nice  clothes,  which  are  really  nice 
now,  and  must  cost  at  least  two  and  a  half  or 
three  dollars,  not  to  speak  of  that  mantle  of 
red  drugget  which  I  happen  to  know  the  price  of, 
for  I  bought  some  of  it  for  my  room  once,  —  as  to 
this  young  man,  Lissy,  he  is  a  pretty  good  fellow, 
and  if  he  does  drink  occasionally,  I  don't  think 
people  ought  to  take  advantage  of  it  and  give  him 


MLISS.  157 

black  eyes  and  throw  him  in  the  mud.  Do  you  ? 
I  am  sure  he  might  owe  me  two  dollars  and  a  half 
a  long  time,  before  I  would  throw  it  up  in  his  face, 
as  the  fellow  did  the  other  night  at  Wingdam." 

Mliss  had  taken  his  hand  in  both  of  hers  and 
was  trying  to  look  in  his  eyes,  which  the  young 
man  kept  as  resolutely  averted.  Mliss  had  a 
faint  idea  of  irony,  indulging  herself  sometimes  in 
a  species  of  sardonic  humor,  which  was  equally 
visible  in  her  actions  and  her  speech.  But  the 
young  man  continued  in  this  strain  until  they  had 
reached  Mrs.  Morpher's,  and  he  had  deposited 
Mliss  in  her  maternal  charge.  Waiving  the  invi- 
tation of  Mrs.  Morpher  to  refreshment  and  rest,  and 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand  to  keep  out  the 
blue-eyed  Clytemnestra's  siren  glances,  he  excused 
himself,  and  went  home. 

For  two  or  three  days  after  the  advent  of  the 
dramatic  company,  Mliss  was  late  at  school,  and 
the  master's  usual  Friday  afternoon  ramble  was 
for  once  omitted,  owing  to  the  absence  of  his 
trustworthy  guide.  As  he  was  putting  away  his 
books  and  preparing  to  leave  the  school-house,  a 
small  voice  piped  at  his  side,  "  Please,  sir  ? "  The 
master  turned  and  there  stood  Aristides  Morpher. 

"Well,  my  little  man,"  said  the  master,  impa- 
tiently, "  what  is  it  ?  quick  ! " 

"  Please,  sir,  me  and  '  Kerg '  thinks  that  Mliss 
is  going  to  run  away  agin." 


158  MLISS. 

"  What 's  that,  sir  ?  "  said  the  master,  with  that 
unjust  testiness  with  which  we  always  receive  dis- 
agreeable news. 

"  Why,  sir,  she  don't  stay  home  any  more,  and 
'  Kerg '  and  me  see  her  talking  with  one  of  those 
actor  fellers,  and  she  's  with  him  now ;  and  please, 
sir,  yesterday  she  told  'Kerg'  and  me  she  could 
make  a  speech  as  well  as  Miss  Cellerstina  Mont- 
moressy,  and  she  spouted  right  off  by  heart,"  and 
the  little  fellow  paused  in  a  collapsed  condition. 

"  What  actor  ? "  asked  the  master. 

"  Him  as  wears  the  shiny  hat.  And  hair.  And 
gold  pin.  And  gold  chain,"  said  the  just  Aristides, 
putting  periods  for  commas  to  eke  out  his  breath. 

The*  master  put  on  his  gloves  and  hat,  feeling  an 
unpleasant  tightness  in  his  chest  and  thorax,  and 
walked  out  in  the  road.  Aristides  trotted  along 
by  his  side,  endeavoring  to  keep  pace  with  his 
short  legs  to  the  master's  strides,  when  the  master 
stopped  suddenly,  and  Aristides  bumped  up  against 
him.  "  Where  were  they  talking  ? "  asked  the  mas- 
ter, as  if  continuing  the  conversation. 

"  At  the  Arcade,"  said  Aristides. 

When  they  reached  the  main  street  the  master 
paused.  "  Eun  down  home,"  said  he  to  the  boy. 
"  If  Mliss  is  there,  come  to  the  Arcade  and  tell  me. 
If  she  is  n't  there,  stay  home ;  run ! "  And  off 
trotted  the  short-legged  Aristides. 

The  Arcade  was  just  across  the  way,  —  a  long, 


MLISS.  159 

rambling  building  containing  a  bar-room,  billiard- 
room,  and  restaurant.  As  the  young  man  crossed 
the  plaza  he  noticed  that  two  or  three  of  the  passers- 
by  turned  and  looked  after  him.  He  looked  at  his 
clothes,  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his 
face,  before  he  entered  the  bar-room.  It  contained 
the  usual  number  of  loungers,  who  stared  at  him  as 
he  entered.  One  of  them  looked  at  him  so  fixedly 
and  with  such  a  strange  expression  that  the  master 
stopped  and  looked  again,  and  then  saw  it  was  only 
his  own  reflection  in  a  large  mirror.  This  made  the 
master  think  that  perhaps  he  was  a  little  excited, 
and  so  he  took  up  a  copy  of  the  Eed  Mountain 
Banner  from  one  of  the  tables,  and  tried  to  recover 
his  composure  by  reading  the  column  of  advertise- 
ments. 

He  then  walked  through  the  bar-room,  through 
the  restaurant,  and  into  the  billiard-room.  The 
child  was  not  there.  In  the  latter  apartment  a 
person  was  standing  by  one  of  the  tables  with  a 
broad-brimmed  glazed  hat  on  his  head.  The  mas- 
ter recognized  him  as  the  agent  of  the  dramatic 
company ;  he  had  taken  a  dislike  to  him  at  their 
first  meeting,  from  the  peculiar  fashion  of  wearing 
his  beard  and  hair.  Satisfied  that  the  object  of  his 
search  was  not  there,  he  turned  to  the  man  with  a 
glazed  hat.  He  had  noticed  the  master,  but  tried 
that  common  trick  of  unconsciousness,  in  which 
vulgar  natures  always  fail.  Balancing  a  billiard- 


160  MLISS. 

cue  in  his  hand,  he  pretended  to  play  with  a  ball 
in  the  centre  of  the  table.  The  master  stood  op- 
posite to  him  until  he  raised  his  eyes  ;  when  their 
glances  met,  the  master  walked  up  to  him. 

He  had  intended  to  avoid  a  scene  or  quarrel,  but 
when  he  began  to  speak,  something  kept  rising  in 
his  throat  and  retarded  his  utterance,  and  his  own 
voice  frightened  him,  it  sounded  so  distant,  low, 
and  resonant.  "  I  understand,"  he  began,  "  that 
Melissa  Smith,  an  orphan,  and  one  of  my  scholars, 
has  talked  with  you  about  adopting  your  profes- 
sion. Is  that  so  ?  " 

The  man  with  the  glazed  hat  leaned  over  the 
table,  and  made  an  imaginary  shot,  that  sent  the 
ball  spinning  round  the  cushions.  Then  walking 
round  the  table  he  recovered  the  ball  and  placed 
it  upon  the  spot.  This  duty  discharged,  getting 
ready  for  another  shot,  he  said, — 

"  S'pose  she  has  ?  " 

The  master  choked  up  again,  but,  squeezing  the 
cushion  of  the  table  in  his  gloved  hand,  he  went 
on :  — 

"  If  you  are  a  gentleman,  I  have  only  to  tell  you 
that  I  am  her  guardian,  and  responsible  for  her  ca- 
reer. You  know  as  well  as  I  do  the  kind  of  life 
you  offer  her.  As  you  may  learn  of  any  one  here, 
I  have  already  brought  her  out  of  an  existence 
worse  than  death,  —  out  of  the  streets  and  the  con- 
tamination of  vice.  I  am  trying  to  do  so  again. 


MLISS.  161 

Let  us  talk  like  men.  She  has  neither  father, 
mother,  sister,  or  brother.  Are  you  seeking  to  give 
her  an  equivalent  for  these  ? " 

The  man  with  the  glazed  hat  examined  the  point 
of  his  cue,  and  then  looked  around  for  somebody 
to  enjoy  the  joke  with  him. 

"  I  know  that  she  is  a  strange,  wilful  girl,"  con- 
tinued the  master,  "  but  she  is  better  than  she  was. 
I  believe  that  I  have  some  influence  over  her  still. 
I  beg  and  hope,  therefore,  that  you  will  take  no 
further  steps  in  this  matter,  but  as  a  man,  as  a  gen- 
tleman, leave  her  to  me.  I  am  willing  —  "  But 
here  something  rose  again  in  the  master's  throat, 
and  the  sentence  remained  unfinished. 

The  man  with  the  glazed  hat,  mistaking  the 
master's  silence,  raised  his  head  with  a  coarse, 
brutal  laugh,  and  said  in  a  loud  voice,  — 

"  Want  her  yourself,  do  you  ?  That  cock  won't 
fight  here,  young  man  ! " 

The  insult  was  more  in  the  tone  than  the  words, 
more  in  the  glance  than  tone,  and  more  in  the 
man's  instinctive  nature  than  all  these.  The 
best  appreciable  rhetoric  to  this  kind  of  animal  is 
a  blow.  The  master  felt  this,  and,  with  his  pent- 
up,  nervous  energy  finding  expression  in  the  one 
act,  he  struck  the  brute  full  in  his  grinning  face. 
The  blow  sent  the  glazed  hat  one  way  and  the  cue 
another,  and  tore  the  glove  and  skin  from  the 
master's  hand  from  knuckle  to  joint.  It  opened 


162  MLISS. 

up  the  corners  of  the  fellow's  mouth,  and  spoilt 
the  peculiar  shape  of  his  beard  for  some  time  to 
come. 

There  was  a  shout,  an  imprecation,  a  scuffle,  and 
the  trampling  of  many  feet.  Then  the  crowd 
parted  right  and  left,  and  two  sharp  quick  reports 
followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  Then 
they  closed  again  about  his  opponent,  and  the  mas- 
ter was  standing  alone.  He  remembered  picking 
bits  of  burning  wadding  from  his  coat-sleeve  with 
his  left  hand.  Some  one  was  holding  his  other 
hand.  Looking  at  it,  he  saw  it  was  still  blaeding 
from  the  blow,  but  his  fingers  were  clenched 
around  the  handle  of  a  glittering  knife.  He  could 
not  remember  when  or  how  he  got  it. 

O 

The  man  who  was  holding  his  hand  was  Mr. 
Morpher.  He  hurried  the  master  to  the  door,  but 
the  master  held  back,  and  tried  to  tell  him  as  well 
as  he  could  with  his  parched  throat  about  "  Mliss." 
"  It 's  all  right,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Morpher.  "  She 's 
home  ! "  And  they  passed  out  into  the  street  to- 
gether. As  they  walked  along  Mr.  Morpher  said 
that  Mliss  had  come  running  into  the  house  a  few 
moments  before,  and  had  dragged  him  out,  saying 
that  somebody  was  trying  to  kill  the  master  at  the 
Arcade.  Wishing  to  be  alone,  the  master  prom- 
ised Mr.  Morpher  that  he  would  not  seek  the  Agent 
again  that  night,  and  parted  from  him,  taking  the 
road  toward  the  school-house.  He  was  surprised 


MLISS.  163 

in  nearing  it  to  find  the  door  open,  —  still  more 
surprised  to  find  Mliss  sitting  there. 

The  master's  nature,  as  I  have  hinted  before, 
had,  like  most  sensitive  organizations,  a  selfish 
basis.  The  brutal  taunt  thrown  out  by  his  late 
adversary  still  rankled  in  his  heart.  It  was  pos- 
sible, he  thought,  that  such  a  construction  might ' 
be  put  upon  his  affection  for  the  child,  which 
at  best  was  foolish  and  Quixotic.  Besides,  had 
she  not  voluntarily  abnegated  his  authority  and 
affection  ?  And  what  had  everybody  else  said 
about  her  ?  Why  should  he  alone  combat  the 
opinion  of  all,  and  be  at  last  obliged  tacitly  to 
confess  the  truth  of  all  they  had  predicted  ?  And 
he  had  been  a  participant  in  a  low  bar-room  fight 
with  a  common  boor,  and  risked  his  life,  to  prove 
what  ?  What  had  he  proved  ?  -  Nothing  ?  What 
would  the  people  say  ?  What  would  his  friends 
say  ?  What  would  McSnagley  say  ? 

In  his  self-accusation  the  last  person  he  should 
have  wished  to  meet  was  Mliss.  He  entered  the 
door,  and,  going  up  to  his  desk,  told  the  child,  in  a 
few  cold  words,  that  he  was  busy,  and  wished  to 
be  alone.  As  she  rose  he  took  her  vacant  seat,  and, 
sitting  down,  buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  When 
he  looked  up  again  she  was  still  standing  there. 
She  was  looking  at  his  face  with  an  anxious  ex- 
pression. 

"  Did  you  kill  him  ? "  she  asked. 


164  MLISS. 

"  No  I "  said  the  master. 

"  That 's  what  I  gave  you  the  knife  for  ! "  said 
the  child,  quickly. 

"  Gave  me  the  knife  ? "  repeated  the  master,  in 
bewilderment. 

"  Yes,  gave  you  the  knife.  I  was  there  under  the 
bar.  Saw  you  hit  him.  Saw  you  both  fall.  He 
dropped  his  old  knife.  I  gave  it  to  you.  Why 
did  n't  you  stick  him  ?  "  said  Mliss  rapidly,  with  an 
expressive  twinkle  of  the  black  eyes  and  a  gesture 
of  the  little  red  hand. 

The  master  could  only  look  his  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  said  Mliss.  "If  you'd  asked  me,  I'd 
told  you  I  was  off  with  the  play-actors.  Why 
was  I  off  with  the  play-actors  ?  Because  you 
wouldn't  tell  me  you  was  going  away.  I  knew 
it.  I  heard  you  tell  the  Doctor  so.  I  was  n't 
a  goin'  to  stay  here  alone  with  those  Morphers. 
I  'd  rather  die  first." 

With  a  dramatic  gesture  which  was  perfectly 
consistent  with  her  character,  she  drew  from  her 
bosom  a  few  limp  green  leaves,  and,  holding  them 
out  at  arm's-length,  said  in  her  quick  vivid  way, 
and  in  the  queer  pronunciation  of  her  old  life, 
which  she  fell  into  when  unduly  excited,  — 

"  That 's  the  poison  plant  you  said  would  kill 
me.  I  '11  go  with  the  play-actors,  or  I  '11  eat  this 
and  die  here.  I  don't  care  which.  I  won't  stay 
here,  where  they  hate  and  despise  me !  Neither 


MLTSS.  165 

would  you  let  me,  if  you  did  n't  hate  and  despise 
me  too  1 " 

The  passionate  little  breast  heaved,  and  two  big 
tears  peeped  over  the  edge  of  Mliss's  eyelids,  but 
she  whisked  them  away  with  the  corner  of  her 
apron  as  if  they  had  been  wasps. 

"  If  you  lock  me  up  in  jail,"  said  Mliss,  fiercely, 
"  to  keep  me  from  the  play-actors,  I  '11  poison 
myself.  Father  killed  himself,  —  why  shouldn't 
I  ?  You  said  a  mouthful  of  that  root  would  kill 
me,  and  I  always  carry  it  here,"  and  she  struck 
her  breast  with  her  clenched  fist. 

The  master  thought  of  the  vacant  plot  beside 
Smith's  grave,  and  of  the  passionate  little  figure 
before  him.  Seizing  her  hands  in  his  and  looking 
full  into  her  truthful  eyes,  he  said,  — 

"  Lissy,  will  you  go  with  me  1 " 

The  child  put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
said  joyfully,  "Yes." 

"  But  now  —  to-night  ?  " 

"  To-night." 

And,  hand  in  hand,  they  passed  into  the  road, 
—  the  narrow  road  that  had  once  brought  her 
weary  feet  to  the  master's  door,  and  which  it 
seemed  she  should  not  tread  again  alone.  The 
stars  glittered  brightly  above  them.  For  good  or 
ill  the  lesson  had  been  learned,  and  behind  them 
the  school  of  Eed  Mountain  closed  upon  them  for- 
ever. 


THE  EIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER 

THE  year  of  grace  1797  passed  away  on  the 
coast  of  California  in  a  southwesterly  gale. 
The  little  bay  of  San  Carlos,  albeit  sheltered  by 
the  headlands  of  the  blessed  Trinity,  was  rough 
and  turbulent ;  its  foam  clung  quivering  to  the 
seaward  wall  of  the  Mission  garden ;  the  air 
was  filled  with  flying  sand  and  spume,  and  as 
the  Senor  Comandante,  Hermenegildo  Salvatierra, 
looked  from  the  deep  embrasured  window  of  the 
Presidio  guard-room,  he  felt  the  salt  breath  of  the 
distant  sea  buffet  a  color  into  his  smoke-dried 
cheeks. 

The  Commander,  I  have  said,  was  gazing  thought- 
fully from  the  window  of  the  guard-room.  He 
may  have  been  reviewing  the  events  of  the  year 
now  about  to  pass  away.  But,  like  the  garri- 
son at  the  Presidio,  there  was  little  to  review ; 
the  year,  like  its  predecessors,  had  been  unevent- 
ful, —  the  days  had  slipped  by  in  a  delicious  mo- 
notony of  simple  duties,  unbroken  by  incident 
or  interruption.  The  regularly  recurring  feasts 
and  saints'  days,  the  half-yearly  courier  from  San 
Diego,  the  rare  transport-ship  and  rarer  foreign 


THE   RIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER.         167 

vessel,  were  the  mere  details  of  his  patriarchal 
life.  If  there  was  no  achievement,  there  was  cer- 
tainly no  failure.  Abundant  harvests  and  patient 
industry  amply  supplied  the  wants  of  Presidio  and 
Mission.  Isolated  from  the  family  of  nations,  the 
wars  which  shook  the  world  concerned  them  not 
so.  much  as  the  last  earthquake ;  the  struggle  that 
emancipated  their  sister  colonies  on  the  other  side 
of  the  continent  to  them  had  no  suggestiveness. 
In  short,  it  was  that  glorious  Indian  summer  of 
California  history,  around  which  so  much  poetical 
haze  still  lingers,  —  that  bland,  indolent  autumn 
of  Spanish  rule,  so  soon  to  be  followed  by  the 
wintry  storms  of  Mexican  independence  and  the 
reviving  spring  of  American  conquest. 

The  Commander  turned  from  the  window  and 
walked  toward  the  fire  that  burned  brightly  on 
the  deep  oven-like  hearth.  A  pile  of  copy-books, 
the  work  of  the  Presidio  school,  lay  on  the  table. 
As  he  turned  over  the  leaves  with  a  paternal 
interest,  and  surveyed  the  fair  round  Scripture 
text,  —  the  first  pious  pot-hooks  of  the  pupils  of 
San  Carlos,  —  an  audible  commentary  fell  from 
his  lips  :  " '  Abimelech  took  her  from  Abraham '  — 
ah,  little  one,  excellent !  —  '  Jacob  sent  to  see  his 
brother '  -  -  body  of  Christ !  that  up-stroke  of 
thine,  Paquita,  is  marvellous ;  the  Governor  shall 
see  it ! "  A  film  of  honest  pride  dimmed  the  Com- 
mander's left  eye,  —  the  right,  alas  !  twenty  years 


168         THE  EIGHT   EYE   OF  THE   COMMANDER. 

before  had  been  sealed  by  an  Indian  arrow.  He 
rubbed  it  softly  with  the  sleeve  of  his  leather 
jacket,  and  continued :  "  '  The  Ishmaelites-  having 
arrived  — ' ' 

He  stopped,  for  there  was  a  step  in  the  court- 
yard, a  foot  upon  the  threshold,  and  a  stranger 
entered.  With  the  instinct  of  an  old  soldier, 
the  Commander,  after  one  glance  at  the  intruder, 
turned  quickly  toward  the  wall,  where  his  trusty 
Toledo  hung,  or  should  have  been  hanging.  But 
it  was  not  there,  and  as  he  recalled  that  the  last 
time  he  had  seen  that  weapon  it  was  being  ridden 
up  and  down  the  gallery  by  Pepito,  the  infant  son 
of  Bautista,  the  tortilio-maker,  he  blushed  and 
then  contented  himself  with  frowning  upon  the 
intruder. 

But  the  stranger's  air,  though  irreverent,  was 
decidedly  peaceful.  He  was  unarmed,  and  wore 
the  ordinary  cape  of  tarpauling  and  sea-boots  of  a 
mariner.  Except  a  villanous  smell  of  codfish, 
there  was  little  about  him  that  was  peculiar. 

His  name,  as  he  informed  the  Commander,  in 
Spanish  that  was  more  fluent  than  elegant  or  pre- 
cise, —  his  name  was  Peleg  Scudder.  He  was  mas- 
ter of  the  schooner  "  General  Court,"  of  the  port 
of  Salem,  in  Massachusetts,  on  a  trading-voyage 
to  the  South  Seas,  but  now  driven  by  stress  of 
weather  into  the  bay  of  San  Carlos.  He  begged 
permission  to  ride  out  the  gale  under  the  head- 


THE  EIGHT  EYE  OF  THE   COMMANDER.         169 

lands  of  the  blessed  Trinity,  and  no  more.  Water 
he  did  not  need,  having  taken  in  a  supply  at 
Bodega,  He  knew  the  strict  surveillance  of  the 
Spanish  port  regulations  in  regard  to  foreign  ves- 
sels, and  would  do  nothing  against  the  severe  dis- 
cipline and  good  order  of  the  settlement.  There 
was  a  slight  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  his  tone  as  he 
glanced  toward  the  desolate  parade-ground  of  the 
Presidio  and  the  open  unguarded  gate.  The  fact 
was  that  the  sentry,  Felipe  Gomez,  had  discreetly 
retired  to  shelter  at  the  beginning  of  the  storm, 
and  was  then  sound  asleep  in  the  corridor. 

The  Commander  hesitated.  The  port  regulations 
were  severe,  but  he  was  accustomed  to  exercise 
individual  authority,  and  beyond  an  old  order 
issued  ten  years  before,  regarding  the  American 
ship  "  Columbia,"  there  was  no  precedent  to  guide 
him.  The  storm  was  severe,  and  a  sentiment  of 
humanity  urged  him  to  grant  the  stranger's  request. 
It  is  but  just  to  the  Commander  to  say,  that  his 
inability  to  enforce  a  refusal  did  not  weigh  with 
his  decision.  He  would  have  denied  with  equal 
disregard  of  consequences  that  right  to  a  seventy- 
four  gun  ship  which  he  now  yielded  so  gracefully 
to  this  Yankee  trading-schooner.  He  stipulated 
only,  that  there  should  be  no  communication 
between  the  ship  and  shore.  "Tor  yourself, 
Sefior  Captain,"  he  continued,  "  accept  my  hospi- 
tality. The  fort  is  yours  as  long  as  you  shall 

8 


170         THE  EIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER. 

grace  it  with  your  distinguished  presence " ;  and 
with  old-fashioned  courtesy,  he  made  the  semblance 
of  withdrawing  from  the  guard-room. 

Master  Peleg  Scudder  smiled  as  he  thought  of 
the  half-dismantled  fort,  the  two  mouldy  brass 
cannon,  cast  in  Manila  a  century  previous,  and  the 
shiftless  garrison.  A  wild  thought  of  accepting 
the  Commander's  offer  literally,  conceived  in  the 
reckless  spirit  of  a  man  who  never  let  slip  an 
offer  for  trade,  for  a  moment  filled  his  brain,  but  a 
timely  reflection  of  the  commercial  unimportance 
of  the  transaction  checked  him.  He  only  took 
a  capacious  quid  of  tobacco,  as  the  Commander 
gravely  drew  a  settle  before  the  fire,  and  in  honor 
of  his  guest  untied  the  black  silk  handkerchief  that 
bound  his  grizzled  brows. 

What  passed  between  Salvatierra  and  his  guest 
that  night  it  becomes  me  not,  as  a  grave  chronicler 
of  the  salient  points  of  history,  to  relate.  I  have 
said  that  Master  Peleg  Scudder  was  a  fluent  talker, 
and  under  the  influence  of  divers  strong  waters, 
furnished  by  his  host,  he  became  still  more  loqua- 
cious. And  think  of  a  man  with  a  twenty  years' 
budget  of  gossip !  The  Commander  learned,  for 
the  first  time,  how  Great  Britain  lost  her  colonies  ; 
of  the  French  Eevolution ;  of  the  great  Napoleon, 
whose  achievements,  perhaps,  Peleg  colored  more 
highly  than  the  Commander's  superiors  would  have 
liked.  And  when  Peleg  turned  questioner,  the 


THE   RIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER.         171 

Commander  was  at  his  mercy.  He  gradually  made 
himself  master  of  the  gossip  of  the  Mission  and 
Presidio,  the  "  small-beer  "  chronicles  of  that  pas- 
toral age,  the  conversion  of  the  heathen,  the  Pre- 
sidio schools,  and  even  asked  the  Commander  how 
he  had  lost  his  eye  !  It  is  said  that  at  this  point 
of  the  conversation  Master  Peleg  produced  from 
about  his  person  divers  small  trinkets,  kick-shaws 
and  new-fangled  trifles,  and  even  forced  some  of 
them  upon  his  host.  It  is  further  alleged  that 
under  the  malign  influence  of  Peleg  and  several 
glasses  of  aguardiente,  the  Commander  lost  some- 
what of  his  decorum,  and  behaved  in  a  manner 
unseemly  for  one  in  his  position,  reciting  high- 
flown  Spanish  poetry,  and  even  piping  in  a  thin, 
high  voice,  divers  madrigals  and  heathen  canzonets 
of  an  amorous  complexion ;  chiefly  in  regard  to  a 
"  little  one  "  who  was  his,  the  Commander's, "  soul "  ! 
These  allegations,  perhaps  unworthy  the  notice  of 
a  serious  chronicler,  should  be  received  with  great 
caution,  and  are  introduced  here  as  simple  hearsay. 
That  the  Commander,  however,  took  a  handkerchief 
and  attempted  to  show  his  guest  the  mysteries  of 
the  semli  cuacua,  capering  in  an  agile  but  in- 
decorous manner  about  the  apartment,  has  been 
denied.  Enough  for  the  purposes  of  this  narra- 
tive, that  at  midnight  Peleg  assisted  his  host  to 
bed  with  many  protestations  of  undying  friend- 
ship, and  then,  as  the  gale  had  abated,  took  his 


172         THE  RIGHT  EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER. 

leave  of  the  Presidio  and  hurried  aboard  the 
"General  Court."  When  the  day  broke  the  ship 
was  gone. 

I  know  not  if  Peleg  kept  his  word  with  his 
host.  It  is  said  that  the  holy  fathers  at  the  Mis- 
sion that  night  heard  a  loud  chanting  in  the  plaza, 
as  of  the  heathens  singing  psalms  through  their 
noses  ;  that  for  many  days  after  an  odor  of  salt 
codfish  prevailed  in  the  settlement;  that  a  dozen 
hard  nutmegs,  which  were  unfit  for  spice  or  seed, 
were  found  in  the  possession  of  the  wife  of  the 
baker,  and  that  several  bushels  of  shoe-pegs,  which 
bore  a  pleasing  resemblance  to  oats,  but  were  quite 
inadequate  to  the  purposes  of  provender,  were 
discovered  in  the  stable  of  the  blacksmith.  But 
when  the  reader  reflects  upon  the  sacredness  of  a 
Yankee  trader's  word,  the  stringent  discipline  of 
the  Spanish  port  regulations,  and  the  proverbial 
indisposition  of  my  countrymen  to  impose  upon 
the  confidence  of  a  simple  people,  he  will  at  once 
reject  this  part  of  the  story. 

A  roll  of  drums,  ushering  in  the  year  1798, 
awoke  the  Commander.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  and  the  storm  had  ceased.  He  sat  up  in 
bed,  and  through  the  force  of  habit  rubbed  his  left 
eye.  As  the  remembrance  of  the  previous  night 
came  back  to  him,  he  jumped  from  his  couch  and 
ran  to  the  window.  There  was  no  ship  in  the 


THE  EIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER.         173 

bay.  A  sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  him,  and 
he  rubbed  both  of  his  eyes.  Not  content  with 
this,  he  consulted  the  metallic  mirror  which  hung 
beside  his  crucifix.  There  was  no  mistake ;  the 
Commander  had  a  visible  second  eye,  —  a  right 
one,  —  as  good,  save  for  the  purposes  of  vision,  as 
the  left. 

"Whatever  might  have  been  the  true  secret  of  this 
transformation,  but  one  opinion  prevailed  at  San 
Carlos.  It  was  one  of  those  rare  miracles  vouch- 
safed a  pious  Catholic  community  as  an  evidence 
to  the  heathen,  through  the  intercession  of  the 
blessed  San  Carlos  himself.  That  their  beloved 
Commander,  the  temporal  defender  of  the  Faith, 
should  be  the  recipient  of  this  miraculous  mani- 
festation was  most  fit  and  seemly.  The  Com- 
mander himself  was  reticent ;  he  could  not  tell  a 
falsehood,  —  he  dared  not  tell  the  truth.  After  all, 
if  the  good  folk  of  San  Carlos  believed  that  the 
powers  of  his  right  eye  were  actually  restored, 
was  it  wise  and  discreet  for  him  to  undeceive 
them  ?  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  Com- 
mander thought  of  policy,  —  for  the  first  time  he 
quoted  that  text  which  has  been  the  lure  of  so 
many  well-meaning  but  easy  Christians,  of  being 
"all  things  to  all  men."  Infeliz  Hermenegildo 
Salvatierra  ! 

For  by  degrees  an  ominous  whisper  crept  through 
the  little  settlement.  The  Eight  Eye  of  the  Com- 


174        THE  RIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER. 

mander,  although  miraculous,  seemed  to  exercise  a 
baleful  effect  upon  the  beholder.  No  one  could 
look  at  it  without  winking.  It  was  cold,  hard, 
relentless  and  unflinching.  More  than  that,  it 
seemed  to  be  endowed  with  a  dreadful  prescience, 
—  a  faculty  of  seeing  through  and  into  the  inarticu- 
late thoughts  of  those  it  looked  upon.  The  sol- 
diers of  the  garrison  obeyed  the  eye  rather  than 
the  voice  of  their  commander,  and  answered  his 
glance  rather  than  his  lips  in  questioning.  The 
servants  could  not  evade  the  ever-watchful,  but 
cold  attention  that  seemed  to  pursue  them.  The 
children  of  the  Presidio  School  smirched  their 
copy-books  under  the  awful  supervision,  and  poor 
Paquita,  the  prize  pupil,  failed  utterly  in  that 
marvellous  up-stroke  when  her  patron  stood  beside 
her.  Gradually  distrust,  suspicion,  self-accusation, 
and  timidity  took  the  place  of  trust,  confidence, 
and  security  throughout  San  Carlos.  Whenever  the 
Eight  Eye  of  the  Commander  fell,  a  shadow  fell 
with  it. 

Nor  was  Salvatierra  entirely  free  from  the  bale- 
ful influence  of  his  miraculous  acquisition.  Un- 
conscious of  its  effect  upon  others,  he  only  saw  in 
their  actions  evidence  of  certain  things  that  the 
crafty  Peleg  had  hinted  on  that  eventful  New 
Year's  eve.  His  most  trusty  retainers  stammered, 
blushed,  and  faltered  before  him.  Self-accusations, 
confessions  of  minor  faults  and  delinquencies,  or 


THE  RIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER.         175 

extravagant  excuses  and  apologies  met  his  mildest 
inquiries.  The  very  children  that  he  loved  —  his 
pet  pupil,  Paquita  —  seemed  to  be  conscious  of 
some  hidden  sin.  The  result  of  this  constant  ir- 
ritation showed  itself  more  plainly.  For  the  first 
half-year  the  Commander's  voice  and  eye  were  at 
variance.  He  was  still  kind,  tender,  and  thought- 
ful in  speech.  Gradually,  however,  his  voice  took 
upon  itself  the  hardness  of  his  glance  and  its 
sceptical,  impassive  quality,  and  as  the  year  again 
neared  its  close  it  was  plain  that  the  Commander 
had  fitted  himself  to  the  eye,  and  not  the  eye  to 
the  Commander. 

It  may  be  surmised  that  these  changes  did  not 
escape  the  watchful  solicitude  of  the  Fathers.  In- 
deed, the  few  who  were  first  to  ascribe  the  right 
eye  of  Salvatierra  to  miraculous  origin  and  the 
special  grace  of  the  blessed  San  Carlos,  now  talked 
openly  of  witchcraft  and  the  agency  of  Luzbel, 
the  evil  one.  It  would  have  fared  ill  with  Her- 
menegildo  Salvatierra  had  he  been  aught  but  Com- 
mander or  amenable  to  local  authority.  But  the 
reverend  father,  Friar  Manuel  de  Cortes,  had  no 
power  over  the  political  executive,  and  all  attempts 
at  spiritual  advice  failed  signally.  He  retired  baf- 
fled and  confused  from  his  first  interview  with  the 
Commander,  who  seemed  now  to  take  a  grim  sat- 
isfaction in  the  fateful  power  of  his  glance.  The 
holy  father  contradicted  himself,  exposed  the  fal- 


176         THE  RIGHT  EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER. 

lacies  of  his  own  arguments,  and  even,  it  is  as- 
serted, committed  himself  to  several  undoubted 
heresies.  When  the  Commander  stood  up  at  mass, 
if  the  officiating  priest  caught  that  sceptical  and 
searching  eye,  the  service  was  inevitably  ruined. 
Even  the  power  of  the  Holy  Church  seemed  to  be 
lost,  and  the  last  hold  upon  the  affections  of  the 
people  and  the  good  order  of  the  settlement  de- 
parted from  San  Carlos. 

As  the  long  dry  summer  passed,  the  low  hills 
that  surrounded  the  white  walls  of  the  Presidio 
grew  more  and  more  to  resemble  in  hue  the  leath- 
ern jacket  of  the  Commander,  and  Nature  herself 
seemed  to  have  borrowed  his  dry,  hard  glare.  The 
earth  was  cracked  and  seamed  with  drought ;  a 
blight  had  fallen  upon  the  orchards  and  vineyards, 
and  the  rain,  long  delayed  and  ardently  prayed  for, 
came  not.  The  sky  was  as  tearless  as  the  right 
eye  of  the  Commander.  Murmurs  of  discontent, 
insubordination,  and  plotting  among  the  Indians 
reached  his  ears ;  he  only  set  his  teeth  the  more 
firmly,  tightened  the  knot  of  his  black  silk  hand- 
kerchief, and  looked  up  his  Toledo. 

The  last  day  of  the  year  1798  found  the  Com- 
mander sitting,  at  the  hour  of  evening  prayers, 
alone  in  the  guard-room.  He  no  longer  attended 
the  services  of  the  Holy  Church,  but  crept  away 
at  such  times  to  some  solitary  spot,  where  he  spent 
the  interval  in  silent  meditation.  The  firelight 


THE  RIGHT   EYE   OF  THE   COMMANDER.         177 

played  upon  the  low  beams  and  rafters,  but  left 
the  bowed  figure  of  Salvatierra  in  darkness.  Sit- 
ting thus,  he  felt  a  small  hand  touch  his  arm,  and, 
looking  down,  saw  the  figure  of  Paquita,  his  little 
Indian  pupil,  at  his  knee.  "Ah,  littlest  of  all," 
said  the  Commander,  with  something  of  his  old 
tenderness,  lingering  over  the  endearing  diminu- 
tives of  his  native  speech,  —  "sweet  one,  what 
doest  thou  here  ?  Art  thou  not  afraid  of  him 
whom  every  one  shuns  and  fears  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  little  Indian,  readily,  "  not  in  the 
dark.  I  hear  your  voice,  —  the  old  voice  ;  I  feel 
your  touch,  —  the  old  touch ;  but  I  see  not  your 
eye,  Senor  Comandante.  That  only  I  fear,  —  and 
that,  0  Senor,  0  my  father,"  said  the  child,  lift- 
ing her  little  arms  towards  his,  —  "  that  I  know 
is  not  thine  own  ! " 

The  Commander  shuddered  and  turned  away. 
Then,  recovering  himself,  he  kissed  Paquita  grave- 
ly on  the  forehead  and  bade  her  retire.  A  few 
hours  later,  when  silence  had  fallen  upon  the  Pre- 
sidio, he  sought  his  own  couch  and  slept  peace- 
fully. 

At  about  the  middle  watch  of  the  night  a 
dusky  figure  crept  through  the  low  embrasure  of 
the  Commander's  apartment.  Other  figures  were 
flitting  through  the  parade-ground,  which  the  Com- 
mander might  have  seen  had  he  not  slept  so  quiet- 
ly. The  intruder  stepped  noiselessly  to  the  couch 
8*  L  • 


178         THE   RIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER. 

and  listened  to  the  sleeper's  deep-drawn  inspiration. 
Something  glittered  in  the  firelight  as  the  savage 
lifted  his  arm  •  another  moment  and  the  sore  per- 
plexities of  Hermenegildo  Salvatierra  would  have 
been  over,  when  suddenly  the  savage  started  and 
fell  back  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror.  The  Com- 
mander slept  peacefully,  but  his  right  eye,  widely 
opened,  fixed  and  unaltered,  glared  coldly  on  the 
would-be  assassin.  The  man  fell  to  the  earth  in  a 
fit,  and  the  noise  awoke  the  sleeper. 

To  rise  to  his  feet,  grasp  his  sword,  and  deal 
blows  thick  and  fast  upon  the  mutinous  savages 
who  now  thronged  the  room,  was  the  work  of  a  mo- 
ment. Help  opportunely  arrived,  and  the  undis- 
ciplined Indians  were  speedily  driven  beyond  the 
walls,  but  in  the  scuffle  the  Commander  received 
a  blow  upon  his  right  eye,  and,  lifting  his  hand 
to  that  mysterious  organ,  it  was  gone.  Never 
again  was  it  found,  and  never  again,  for  bale  or 
bliss,  did  it  adorn  the  right  orbit  of  the  Com- 
mander. 

With  it  passed  away  the  spell  that  had  fallen 
upon  San  Carlos.  The  rain  returned  to  invigorate 
the  languid  soil,  harmony  was  restored  between 
priest  and  soldier,  the  green  grass  presently  waved 
over  the  sere  hillsides,  the  children  flocked  again 
to  the  side  of  their  martial  preceptor,  a  Te  Deum 
was  sung  in  the  Mission  Church,  and  pastoral  con- 
tent once  more  smiled  upon  the  gentle  valleys  of 


THE  EIGHT   EYE   OF   THE   COMMANDER.         179 

San  Carlos.  And  far  southward  crept  the  "  General 
Court "  with  its  master,  Peleg  Scudder,  trafficking  in 
beads  and  peltries  with  the  Indians,  and  offering 
glass  eyes,  wooden  legs,  and  other  Boston  notions 
to  the  chiefs. 


NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 


PART  L  — IN  THE  FIELD. 

IT  was  near  the  close  of  an  October  day  that  I 
began  to  be  disagreeably  conscious  of  the  Sac- 
ramento Valley.  I  had  been  riding  since  sunrise, 
and  my  course  through  the  depressing  monotony 
of  the  long  level  landscape  affected  me  more  like 
a  dull  dyspeptic  dream  than  a  business  journey, 
performed  under  that  sincerest  of  natural  phenom- 
ena, —  a  California  sky.  The  recurring  stretches  of 
brown  and  baked  fields,  the  gaping  fissures  in  the 
dusty  trail,  the  hard  outline  of  the  distant  hills, 
and  the  herds  of  slowly  moving  cattle,  seemed  like 
features  of  some  glittering  stereoscopic  picture  that 
never  changed.  Active  exercise  might  have  re- 
moved this  feeling,  but  my  horse  by  some  subtle 
instinct  had  long  since  given  up  all  ambitious 
effort,  and  had  lapsed  into  a  dogged  trot. 

It  was  autumn,  but  not  the  season  suggested  to 
the  Atlantic  reader  under  that  title.  The  sharply 
defined  boundaries  of  the  wet  and  dry  seasons  were 
prefigured  in  the  clear  outlines  of  the  distant  hills. 
In  the  dry  atmosphere  the  decay  of  vegetation  was 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD.  181 

too  rapid  for  the  slow  hectic  which  overtakes  an 
Eastern  landscape,  or  else  Nature  was  too  practical 
for  such  thin  disguises.  She  merely  turned  the 
Hippocratic  face  to  the  spectator,  with  the  old  di- 
agnosis of  Death  in  her  sharp,  contracted  features. 

In  the  contemplation  of  such  a  prospect  there 
was  little  to  excite  any  but  a  morbid  fancy.  There 
were  no  clouds  in  the  flinty  blue  heavens,  and  the 
setting  of  the  sun  was  accompanied  with  as  little 
ostentation  as  was  consistent  with  the  dryly  prac- 
tical atmosphere.  Darkness  soon  followed,  with  a 
rising  wind,  which  increased  as  the  shadows  deep- 
ened on  the  plain.  The  fringe  of  alder  by  the 
watercourse  began  to  loom  up  as  I  urged  my  horse 
forward.  A  half-hour's  active  spurring  brought 
me  to  a  corral,  and  a  little  beyond  a  house,  so  low 
and  broad  it  seemed  at  first  sight  to  be  half  buried 
in  the  earth. 

My  secorid  impression  was  that  it  had  grown  out 
of  the  soil,  like  some  monstrous  vegetable,  its 
dreary  proportions  were  so  in  keeping  with  the 
vast  prospect.  There  were  no  recesses  along  its 
roughly  boarded  walls  for  vagrant  and  unprofit- 
able shadows  to  lurk  in  the  daily  sunshine.  No 
projection  for  the  wind  by  night  to  grow  musical 
over,  to  wail,  whistle,  or  whisper  to ;  only  a  long 
wooden  shelf  containing  a  chilly-looking  tin  basin, 
and  a  bar  of  soap.  Its  uncurtained  windows  were 
red  with  the  sinking  sun,  as  though  bloodshot  and 


182  NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

inflamed  from  a  too  long  unlidded  existence.  The 
tracks  of  cattle  led  to  its  front  door,  firmly  closed 
against  the  rattling  wind. 

To  avoid  being  confounded  with  this  familiar 
element,  I  walked  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  which 
was  connected  with  a  smaller  building  by  a  slight 
platform.  A  grizzled,  hard-faced  old  man  was 
standing  there,  and  met  my  salutation  with  a  look 
of  inquiry,  and,  without  speaking,  led  the  way  to 
the  principal  room.  As  1  entered,  four  young  men, 
who  were  reclining  by  the  fire,  slightly  altered 
their  attitudes  of  perfect  repose,  but  beyond  that 
betrayed  neither  curiosity  nor  interest.  A  hound 
started  from  a  dark  corner  with  a  growl,  but  was 
immediately  kicked  by  the  old  man  into  obscurity, 
and  silenced  again.  I  can't  tell  why,  but  I  in- 
stantly received  the  impression  that  for  a  long  time 
the  group  by  the  fire  had  not  uttered  a  word  or 
moved  a  muscle.  Taking  a  seat,  I  briefly  stated 
my  business. 

Was  a  United  States  surveyor.  Had  come  on 
account  of  the  Espiritu  Santo  Rancho.  Wanted 
to  correct  the  exterior  boundaries  of  township 
lines,  so  as  to  connect  with  the  near  exteriors  of 
private  grants.  There  had  been  some  intervention 
to  the  old  survey  by  a  Mr.  Tryan  who  had  pre- 
empted adjacent  —  "  settled  land  warrants,"  in- 
terrupted the  old  man.  "  Ah,  yes  !  Land  Warrants, 
—  and  then  this  was  Mr.  Tryan  ?  " 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD.  183 

I  had  spoken  mechanically,  for  I  was  preoccu- 
pied in  connecting  other  public  lines  with  private 
surveys,  as  I  looked  in  his  face.  It  was  certainly 
a  hard  face,  and  reminded  me  of  the  singular  effect 
of  that  mining  operation  known  as  "ground  slui- 
cing "  ;  the  harder  lines  of  underlying  character 
were  exposed,  and  what  were  once  plastic  curves 
and  soft  outlines  were  obliterated  by  some  power- 
ful agency. 

There  was  a  dryness  in  his  voice  not  unlike  the 
prevailing  atmosphere  of  the  valley,  as  he  launched 
into  an  ex  parte  statement  of  the  contest,  with  a 
fluency,  which,  like  the  wind  without,  showed  fre- 
quent and  unrestrained  expression.  He  told  me 
—  what  I  had  already  learned  —  that  the  boundary 
line  of  the  old  Spanish  grant  was  a  creek,  described 
in  the  loose  phraseology  of  the  deseno  as  beginning 
in  the  valda  or  skirt  of  the  hill,  its  precise  loca- 
tion long  the  subject  of  litigation.  I  listened  and 
answered  with  little  interest,  for  my  mind  was  still 
distracted  by  the  wind  which  swept  violently  by 
the  house,  as  well  as  by  his  odd  face,  which  was 
again  reflected  in  the  .resemblance  that  the  silent 
group  by  the  fire  bore  toward  him.  He  was  still 
talking,  and  the  wind  was  yet  blowing,  when  my 
confused  attention  was  aroused  by  a  remark  ad- 
dressed to  the  recumbent  figures. 

"  Now,  then,  which  on  ye  '11  see  the  stranger  up 
the  creek  to  Altascar's,  to-morrow  ? " 


184  NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  opposition  in 
the  group,  but  no  decided  answer. 

"  Kin  you  go,  Kerg  ? " 

"  Who  's  to  look  up  stock  in  Strarberry  per- 
ar-ie?" 

This  seemed  to  imply  a  negative,  and  the  old 
man  turned  to  another  hopeful,  who  was  pulling 
the  fur  from  a  mangy  bear-skin  on  which  he  was 
lying,  with  an  expression  as  though  it  were  some- 
body's hair. 

"  Well,  Tom,  wot 's  to  hinder  you  from  goin'  ? " 

"  Mam  's  goin'  to  Brown's  store  at  sun-up,  and  I 
s'pose  I  Ve  got  to  pack  her  and  the  baby  agin." 

I  think  the  expression  of  scorn  this  unfortunate 
youth  exhibited  for  the  filial  duty  into  which  he 
had  been  evidently  beguiled,  was  one  of  the  finest 
things  I  had  ever  seen. 

"  Wise  ? " 

Wise  deigned  no  verbal  reply,  but  figuratively 
thrust  a  worn  and  patched  boot  into  the  discourse. 
The  old  man  flushed  quickly. 

"  I  told  ye  to  get  Brown  to  give  you  a  pair  the 
last  time  you  war  down  the  jiver." 

"  Said  he  would  n't  without'en  order.  Said  it 
was  like  pulling  gum-teeth  to  get  the  money  from 
you  even  then." 

There  was  a  grim  smile  at  this  local  hit  at  the 
old  man's  parsimony,  and  Wise,  who  was  clearly 
the  privileged  wit  of  the  family,  sank  back  in  hon- 
orable retirement. 


NOTES  BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD.  185 

"  Well,  Joe,  ef  your  boots  are  new,  and  you  are 
n't  pestered  with  wimmin  and  children,  p'r'aps 
you'll  go,"  said  Tryan,  with  a  nervous  twitching, 
intended  for  a  smile,  about  a  mouth  not  remarkably 
mirthful. 

Tom  lifted  a  pair  of  bushy  eyebrows,  and  said 
shortly,  — 

"  Got  no  saddle." 

"  Wot 's  gone  of  your  saddle  ? " 

"Kerg,  there,"  —  indicating  his  brother  with  a 
look  such  as  Cain  might  have  worn  at  the  sacrifice. 

"  You  lie  ! "  returned  Kerg,  cheerfully. 

Tryan  sprang  to  his  feet,  seizing  the  chair,  flour- 
ishing it  around  his  head  and  gazing  furiously  in 
the  hard  young  faces  which  fearlessly  met  his  own. 
But  it  was  only  for  a  moment;  his  arm  soon 
dropped  by  his  side,  and  a  look  of  hopeless  fatality 
crossed  his  face.  He  allowed  me  to  take  the  chair 
from  his  hand,  and  I  was  trying  to  pacify  him  by 
the  assurance  that  I  required  no  guide,  when  the 
irrepressible  Wise  again  lifted  his  voice  :  — 

"  Theer  's  George  comin'  !  why  don't  ye  ask  him  ? 
He  '11  go  and  introduce  you  to  Don  Fernandy's 
darter,  too,  ef  you  ain't  pertickler." 

The  laugh  which  followed  this  joke,  which  evi- 
dently had  some  domestic  allusion  (the  general 
tendency  of  rural  pleasantry),  was  followed  by  a 
light  step  on  the  platform,  and  the  young  man  en- 
tered. Seeing  a  stranger  present,  he  stopped  and 


186  NOTES   BY  FLOOD  AND   FIELD. 

colored  ;  made  a  shy  salute  and  colored  again,  and 
then,  drawing  a  box  from  the  corner,  sat  down,  his 
hands  clasped  lightly  together  and  his  very  hand- 
some bright  blue  eyes  turned  frankly  on  mine. 

Perhaps  I  was  in  a  condition  to  receive  the  ro- 
mantic impression  he  made  upon  me,  and  I  took 
it  upon  myself  to  ask  his  company  as  guide,  and 
he  cheerfully  assented.  But  some  domestic  duty 
called  him  presently  away. 

The  fire  gleamed  brightly  on  the  hearth,  and,  no 
longer  resisting  the  prevailing  influence,  I  silently 
watched  the  spirting  flame,  listening  to  the  wind 
which  continually  shook  the  tenement.  Besides 
the  one  chair  which  had  acquired  a  new  impor- 
tance in  my  eyes,  I  presently  discovered  a  crazy 
table  in  one  corner,  with  an  ink-bottle  and  pen ;  the 
latter  in  that  greasy  state  of  decomposition  pecu- 
liar to  country  taverns  and  farm-houses.  A  goodly 
array  of  rifles  and  double-barrelled  guns  stocked 
the  corner ;  half  a  dozen  saddles  and  blankets  lay 
near,  with  a  mild  flavor  of  the  horse  about  them. 
Some  deer  and  bear  skins  completed  the  inventory. 
As  I  sat  there,  with  the  silent  group  around  me, 
the  shadowy  gloom  within  and  the  dominant  wind 
without,  I  found  it  difficult  to  believe  I  had  ever 
known  a  different  existence.  My  profession  had 
often  led  me  to  wilder  scenes,  but  rarely  among 
those  whose  unrestrained  habits  and  easy  uncon- 
sciousness made  me  feel  so  lonely  and  uncomfort- 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD.  187 

able.  I  shrank  closer  to  myself,  not  without  grave 
doubts  —  which  I  think  occur  naturally  to  people 
in  like  situations  —  that  this  was  the  general  rule 
of  humanity,  and  I  was  a  solitary  and  somewhat 
gratuitous  exception. 

It  was  a  relief  when  a  laconic  announcement  of 
supper  by  a  weak-eyed  girl  caused  a  general  move-  ' 
ment  in  the  family.  We  walked  across  the  dark 
platform,  which  led  to  another  low-ceiled  room. 
Its  entire  length  was  occupied  by  a  table,  at  the 
farther  end  of  wThich  a  weak-eyed  woman  was  al- 
ready taking  her  repast,  as  she,  at  the  same  time, 
gave  nourishment  to  a  weak-eyed  baby.  As  the 
formalities  of  introduction  had  been  dispensed 
with,  and  as  she  took  no  notice  of  me,  I  was  enabled 
to  slip  into  a  seat  without  discomposing  or  inter- 
rupting her.  Tryan  extemporized  a  grace,  and  the 
attention  of  the  family  became  absorbed  in  bacon, 
potatoes,  and  dried  apples. 

The  meal  was  a  sincere  one.  Gentle  gurglings 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  table  often  betrayed  the 
presence  of  the  "  wellspring  of  pleasure."  The 
conversation  generally  referred  to  the  labors  of  the 
day,  and  comparing  notes  as  to  the  whereabouts 
of  missing  stock.  Yet  the  supper  was  such  a  vast 
improvement  upon  the  previous  intellectual  feast, 
that  when  a  chance  allusion  of  mine  to  the  busi- 
ness of  my  visit  brought  out  the  elder  Tryan,  the 
interest  grew  quite  exciting.  I  remember  he  in- 


188  NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

veighed  bitterly  against  the  system  of  ranch-hold- 
ing by  the  "  greasers,"  as  he  was  pleased  to  term 
the  native  Californians.  As  the  same  ideas  have 
been  sometimes  advanced  under  more  pretentious 
circumstances,  they  may  be  worthy  of  record. 

"  Look  at  'em  holdin'  the  finest  grazin'  land  that 
ever  lay  outer  doors  ?  Whar  's  the  papers  for  it  ? 
Was  it  grants  ?  Mighty  fine  grants,  —  most  of 
'em  made  arter  the  'Merrikans  got  possession. 
More  fools  the  'Merrikans  for  lettin'  'em  hold  'em. 
Wat  paid  for  'em  ?  'Merrikan  blood  and  money. 

"  Did  n't  they  oughter  have  suthin  out  of  their 
native  country  ?  Wot  for  ?  Did  they  ever  im- 
prove ?  Got  a  lot  of  yaller-skinned  diggers,  not 
so  sensible  as  niggers  to  look  arter  stock,  and  they 
a  sittin'  home  and  smokin'.  With  their  gold  and 
silver  candlesticks,  and  missions,  and  crucifixens, 
priests  and  graven  idols,  and  sich  ?  Them  sort 
things  wurent  allowed  in  Mizzoori." 

At  the  mention  of  improvements,  I  involun- 
tarily lifted  my  eyes,  and  met  the  half-laughing, 
half-embarrassed  look  of  George.  The  act  did 
not  escape  detection,  and  I  had  at  once  the  sat- 
isfaction of  seeing  that  the  rest  of  the  family  had 
formed  an  offensive  alliance  against  us. 

"  It  was  agin  Nater,  and  agin  God,"  added 
Tryan.  "  God  never  intended  gold  in  the  rocks  to 
be  made  into  heathen  candlesticks  and  crucifixens. 
That 's  why  he  sent  'Merrikins  here.  Nater  never 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD.  189 

intended  such  a  climate  for  lazy  lopers.  She 
never  gin  six  months'  sunshine  to  be  slept  and 
smoked  away." 

How  long  he  continued,  and  with  what  further 
illustration  I  could  not  say,  for  I  took  an  early  op- 
portunity to  escape  to  the  sitting-room.  I  was 
soon  followed -by  George,  who  called  me  to  an  open 
door  leading  to  a  smaller  room,  and  pointed  to  a 
bed. 

"You'd  better  sleep  there  to-night,"  he  said; 
"  you  '11  be  more  comfortable,  and  I  '11  call  you 
early." 

I  thanked  him,  and  would  have  asked  him 
several  questions  which  were  then  troubling  me, 
but  he  shyly  slipped  to  the  door  and  vanished. 

A  shadow  seemed  to  fall  on  the  room  when  he 
had  gone.  The  "  boys  "  returned,  one  by  one,  and 
shuffled  to  their  old  places.  A  larger  log  was 
thrown  on  the  fire,  and  the  huge  chimney  glowed 
like  a  furnace,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  melt  or  sub- 
due a  single  line  of  the  hard  faces  that  it  lit.  In 
half  an  hour  later,  the  furs  which  had  served  as 
chairs  by  day  undertook  the  nightly  office  of  mat- 
tresses, "and  each  received  its  owner's  full-length 
figure.  Mr.  Tryan  had  not  returned,  and  I  missed 
George.  I  sat  there,  until,  wakeful  and  nervous,  I 
saw  the  fire  fall  and  shadows  mount  the  wall. 
There  was  no  sound  but  the  rushing  of  the  wind 
and  the  snoring  of  the  sleepers.  At  last,  feeling 


190  NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

the  place  insupportable,  I  seized  my  hat  and,  open- 
ing the  door,  ran  out  briskly  into  the  night. 

The  acceleration  of  my  torpid  pulse  in  the  keen 
fight  with  the  wind,  whose  violence  was  almost 
equal  to  that  of  a  tornado,  and  the  familiar  faces 
of  the  bright  stars  above  me,  I  felt  as  a  blessed 

O 

relief.  I  ran  not  knowing  whither,  and  when  I 
halted,  the  square  outline  of  the  house  was  lost 
in  the  alder-bushes.  An  uninterrupted  plain 
stretched  before  me,  like  a  vast  sea  beaten  flat  by 
the  force  of  the  gale.  As  I  kept  on  I  noticed  a 
slight  elevation  toward  the  horizon,  and  presently 
my  progress  was  impeded  by  the  ascent  of  an  In- 
dian mound.  It  struck  me  forcibly  as  resembling 
an  island  in  the  sea.  Its  height  gave  me  a  bet- 
ter view  of  the  expanding  plain.  But  even  here 
I  found  no  rest.  The  ridiculous  interpretation 
Tryan  had  given  the  climate  was  somehow  sung 
in  my  ears,  and  echoed  in  my  throbbing  pulse, 
as,  guided  by  the  star,  I  sought  the  house  again. 
But  I  felt  fresher  and  more  natural  as  I  stepped 
upon  the  platform.  The  door  of  the  lower  build- 
ing was  open,  and  the  old  man  was  sitting  beside 
the  table,  thumbing  the  leaves  of  a  Bible  with  a 
look  in  his  face  as  though  he  w^ere  hunting  up 
prophecies  against  the  "  Greaser."  I  turned  to 
enter,  but  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  blank- 
eted figure  lying  beside  the  house,  on  the  platform. 
The  broad  chest  heaving  with  healthy  slumber, 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND  FIELD.  191 

and  the  open,  honest  face  were  familiar.  It  was 
George,  who  had  given  up  his  bed  to  the  stranger 
among  his  people.  I  was  about  to  wake  him,  but 
he  lay  so  peaceful  and  quiet,  I  felt  awed  and 
hushed.  And  I  went  to  bed  with  a  pleasant  im- 
pression of  his  handsome  face  and  tranquil  figure 
soothing  me  to  sleep. 

I  was  awakened  the  next  morning  from  a  sense 
of  lulled  repose  and  grateful  silence  by  the  cheery 
voice  of  George,  who  stood  beside  my  bed,  osten- 
tatiously twirling  a  "  riata,"  as  if  to  recall  the 
duties  of  the  day  to  my  sleep-bewildered  eyes.  I 
looked  around  me.  The  wind  had  been  magically 
laid,  and  the  sun  shone  warmly  through  the  win- 
dows. A  dash  of  cold  water,  with  an  extra  chill 
on  from  the  tin  basin,  helped  to  brighten  me.  It 
was  still  early,  but  the  family  had  already  break- 
fasted and  dispersed,  and  a  w^agon  winding  far  in 
the  distance  showed  that  the  unfortunate  Tom  had 
already  "  packed  "  his  relatives  away.  I  felt  more 
cheerful,  —  there  are  few  troubles  Youth  cannot 
distance  with  the  start  of  a  good  night's  rest. 
After  a  substantial  breakfast,  prepared  by  George, 
in  a  few  moments  we  were  mounted  and  dashing 
down  the  plain. 

We  followed  the  line  of  alder  that  defined  the 
creek,  now  dry  and  baked  with  summer's  heat, 
but  which  in  winter,  George  told  me,  overflowed 


192  NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

its  banks.  I  still  retain  a  vivid  impression  of  that 
morning's  ride,  the  far-off  mountains,  like  silhouettes, 
against  the  steel-blue  sky,  the  crisp  dry  air,  and 
the  expanding  track  before  me,  animated  often  by 
the  well-knit  figure  of  George  Tryan,  musical  with 
jingling  spurs,  and  picturesque  with  flying  "  riata," 
He  rode  a  powerful  native  roan,  wild-eyed,  un- 
tiring in  stride  and  unbroken  in  nature.  Alas ! 
the  curves  of  beauty  were  concealed  by  the  cum- 
brous machillas  of  the  Spanish  saddle,  which  lev- 
els all  equine  distinctions.  The  single  rein  lay 
loosely  on  the  cruel  bit  that  can  gripe,  and,  if  need 
be,  crush  the  jaw  it  controls. 

Again  the  illimitable  freedom  of  the  valley  rises 
before  me,  as  we  again  bear  down  into  sunlit 
space.  Can  this  be  "  Chu-Chu,"  staid  and  respect- 
able filly  of  American  pedigree,  —  "  Chu-Chu,"  for- 
getful of  plank-roads  and  cobble-stones,  wild  with 
excitement,  twinkling  her  small  white  feet  beneath 
me  ?  George  laughs  out  of  a  cloud  of  dust,  "  Give 
her  her  head ;  don't  you  see  she  likes  it?."  and 
"  Chu-Chu "  seems  to  like  it,  and,  whether  bitten 
by  native  tarantula  into  native  barbarism  or 
emulous  of  the  roan,  "  blood "  asserts  itself,  and 
in  a  moment  the  peaceful  servitude  of  years  is 
beaten  out  in  the  music  of  her  clattering  hoofs. 
The  creek  widens  to  a  deep  gully.  We  dive  into 
it  and  up  on  the  opposite  side,  carrying  a  moving 
cloud  of  impalpable  powder  with  us.  Cattle  are 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND   FIELD.  193 

scattered  over  the  plain,  grazing  quietly,  or  banded 
together  in  vast  restless  herds.  George  makes  a 
wide,  indefinite  sweep  with  the  "riata,"  as  if. to 
include  them  all  in  his  vaquero's  loop,  and  says, 
"Ours!" 

"  About  how  many,  George  ? " 

"Don't  know." 

"  How  many  ?  " 

"  Well,  p'r'aps  three  thousand  head,"  says  George, 
reflecting.  "We  don't  know,  takes  five  men  to 
look  'em  up  and  keep  run." 

"  What  are  they  worth  ?" 

"  About  thirty  dollars  a  head." 

I  make  a  rapid  calculation,  and  look  my  astonish- 
ment at  the  laughing  George.  Perhaps  a  recollec- 
tion of  the  domestic  economy  of  the  Tryan  house- 
hold is  expressed  in  that  look,  for  George  averts 
his  eye  and  says,  apologetically,  — 

"  I  Ve  tried  to  get  the  old  man  to  sell  and 
build,  but  you  know  he  says  it  ain't  no  use  to 
settle  down,  just  yet.  We  must  keep  movin'. 
In  fact,  he  built  the  shanty  for  that  purpose,  lest 
titles  should  fall  through,  and  we  'd  have  to  get 
up  and  move  stakes  further  down." 

Suddenly  his  quick  eye  detects  some  unusual 
sight  in  a  herd  we  are  passing,  and  with  an  ex- 
clamation he  puts  his  roan  into  the  centre  of  the 
mass.  I  follow,  or  rather  "  Chu-Chu  "  darts  after 
the  roan,  and  in  a  few  moments  we  are  in  the 

9  M 


194  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

midst  of  apparently  inextricable  horns  and  hoofs. 
"  Toro  ! "  shouts  George,  with  vaquero  enthusiasm, 
and  the  band  opens  a  way  for  the  swinging  "  riata." 
I  can  feel  their  steaming  breaths,  and  their  spume 
is  cast  on  "  Chu-Chu's  "  quivering  flank. 

Wild,  devilish-looking  beasts  are  they  ;  not 
such  shapes  as  Jove  might  have  chosen  to  woo  a 
goddess,  nor  such  as  peacefully  range  the  downs  of 
Devon,  but  lean  and  hungry  Cassius-like  bovines, 
economically  got  up  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  a 
six  months'  rainless  climate,  and  accustomed  to 
wrestle  with  the  distracting  wind  and  the  blind- 
ing dust. 

"  That 's  not  our  brand,"  says  George ;  "  they  're 
strange  stock,"  and  he  points  to  what  my  scientific 
eye  recognizes  as  the  astrological  sign  of  Venus 
deeply  seared  in  the  brown  flanks  of  the  bull  he  is 
chasing.  But  the  herd  are  closing  round  us  with 
low  mutterings,  and  George  has  again  recourse  to 
the  authoritative  "  Toro,"  and  with  swinging  "  riata  " 
divides  the  "  bossy  bucklers  "  on  either  side.  When 
we  are  free,  and  breathing  somewhat  more  easily,  I 
venture  to  ask  George  if  they  ever  attack  any 
one. 

"  Never  horsemen,  —  sometimes  footmen.  Not 
through  rage,  you  know,  but  curiosity.  They  think 
a  man  and  his  horse  are  one,  and  if  they  meet  a 
chap  afoot,  they  run  him  down  and  trample  him 
under  hoof,  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge.  But," 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD.  195 

adds  George,  "  here  's  the  lower  bench  of  the  foot- 
hills, and  here  's  Altascar's  corral,  and  that  white 
building  you  see  yonder  is  the  casa." 

A  whitewashed  wall  enclosed-  a  court  containing 
another  adobe  building,  baked  with  the  solar  beams 
of  many  summers.  Leaving  our  horses  in  the  charge 
of  a  few  peons  in  the  courtyard,  who  were  basking 
lazily  in  the  sun,  we  entered  a  low  doorway,  where 
a  deep  shadow  and  an  agreeable  coolness  fell  upon 
us,  as  sudden  and  grateful  as  a  plunge  in  cool 
water,  from  its  contrast  with  the  external  glare 
and  heat.  In  the  centre  of  a  low-ceiled  apartment 
sat  an  old  man  with  a  black  silk  handkerchief  tied 
about  his  head ;  the  few  gray  hairs  that  escaped 
from  its  folds  relieving  his  gamboge-colored  face. 
The  odor  of  cigarritos  was  as  incense  added  to  the 
cathedral  gloom  of  the  building. 

As  Senor  Altascar  rose  with  well-bred  gravity 
to  receive  us,  George  advanced  with  such  a  heigh't- 
ened  color,  and  such  a  blending  of  tenderness  and 
respect  in  his  manner,  that  I  was  touched  to  the 
heart  by  so  much  devotion  in  the  careless  youth. 
In  fact,  my  eyes  were  still  dazzled  by  the  effect  of 
the  outer  sunshine,  and  at  first  I  did  not  see  the 
white  teeth  and  black  eyes  of  Pepita,  who  slipped 
into  the  corridor  as  we  entered. 

It  was  no  pleasant  matter  to  disclose  particulars 
of  business  which  would  deprive  the  old  Senor  of 
the  greater  part  of  that  land  we  had  just  ridden 


196  NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

over,  and  I  did  it  with  great  embarrassment.  But 
he  listened  calmly,  —  not  a  muscle  of  his  dark  face 
stirring,  —  and  the  smoke  curling  placidly  from 
his  lips  showed  his  regular  respiration.  When  I 
had  finished,  he  offered  quietly  to  accompany  us 
to  the  line  of  demarcation.  George  had  mean- 
while disappeared,  but  a  suspicious  conversation  in 
broken  Spanish  and  English,  in  the  corridor,  be- 
trayed his  vicinity.  When  he  returned  again,  a 
little  absent-minded,  the  old  man,  by  far  the  cool- 
est and  most  self-possessed  of  the  party,  extin- 
guished his  black  silk  cap  beneath  that  stiff,  un- 
comely sombrero  which  all  native  Californians 
affect.  A  serapa  thrown  over  his  shoulders  hinted 
that  he  was  waiting.  Horses  are  always  ready 
saddled  in  Spanish  ranches,  and  in  half  an  hour 
from  the  time  of  our  arrival  we  were  again  "  lop- 
ing "  in  the  staring  sunlight. 

"  But  not  as  cheerfully  as  before.  George  and 
myself  were  weighed  down  by  restraint,  and  Altas- 
car  was  gravely  quiet.  To  break  the  silence,  and 
by  way  of  a  consolator}^  essay,  I  hinted  to  him 
that  there  might  be  further  intervention  or  appeal, 
but  the  proffered  oil  and  wine  were  returned  with 
a  careless  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  senten- 
tious "  Que  lueno  ?  7—  Your  courts  are  always 
just." 

The  Indian  mound  of  the  previous  night's  dis- 
covery was  a  bearing  monument  of  the  new  line, 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD  AND   FIELD.  197 

and  there  we  halted.  We  were  surprised  to  find 
the  old  man  Tiyan  waiting  us.  For  the  first  time 
during  our  interview  the  old  Spaniard  seemed 
moved,  and  the  blood  rose  in  his  yellow  cheek. 
I  was  anxious  to  close  the  scene,  and  pointed  out 
the  corner  boundaries  as  clearly  as  my  recollection 
served. 

"  The  deputies  will  be  here  to-morrow  to  run 
the  lines  from  this  initial  point,  and  there  will  be 
no  further  trouble,  I  believe,  gentlemen." 

Sefior  Altascar  had  dismounted  and  was  gather- 
ing a  few  tufts  of  dried  grass  in  his  hands.  George 
and  I  exchanged  glances.  He  presently  arose  from 
his  stooping  posture,  and,  advancing  to  within  a 
few  paces  of  Joseph  Tryan,  said,  in  a  voice  broken 
with  passion,  — 

"And  I,  Fernando  Jesus  Maria  Altascar,  put 
you  in  possession  of  my  land  in  the  fashion  of  my 
country." 

He  threw  a  sod  to  each  of  the  cardinal  points. 

"  I  don't  know  your  courts,  your  judges,  or  your 
corregidores  Take  the  llano  !  —  and  take  this 
with  it.  May  the  drought  seize  your  cattle  till 
their  tongues  hang  down  as  long  as  those  of  your 
lying  lawyers  !  May  it  be  the  curse  and  torment 
of  your  old  age,  as  you  and  yours  have  made  it  of 
mine ! " 

We  stepped  between  the  principal  actors  in  this 
scene,  which  only  the  passion  of  Altascar  made 


198  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND   FIELD. 

tragical,  but  Tryan,  with  a  humility  but  ill  con- 
cealing his  triumph,  interrupted  :  — 

"  Let  him  curse  on.  He  '11  find  'em  coming  home 
to  him  sooner  than  -the  cattle  he  has  lost  through 
his  sloth  and  pride.  The  Lord  is  on  the  side  of 
the  just,  as  well  as  agin  all  slanderers  and  re- 
vilers." 

Altascar  but  half  guessed  the  meaning  of  the 
Missourian,  yet  sufficiently  to  drive  from  his  mind 
all  but  the  extravagant  power  of  his  native  in- 
vective. 

"  Stealer  of  the  Sacrament !  Open  not !  —  open 
not,  I  say,  your  lying,  Judas  lips  to  me !  Ah ! 
half-breed,  with  the  soul  of  a  cayote ! — Car-r-r- 
ramba ! " 

With  his  passion  reverberating  among  the  con- 
sonants like  distant  thunder,  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  mane  of  his  horse  as  though  it  had  been 
the  gray  locks  of  his  adversary,  swung  himself 
into  the  saddle  and  galloped  away. 

George  turned  to  me  :  — 

"  Will  you  go  back  with  us  to-night  ? " 

I  thought  of  the  cheerless  walls,  the  silent  figures 
by  the  fire,  and  the  roaring  wind,  and  hesitated. 

"Well  then,  good  by." 

"  Good  by,  George." 

Another  wring  of  the  hands,  and  we  parted.  I 
had  not  ridden  far,  when  I  turned  and  looked  back. 
The  wind  had  risen  early  that  afternoon,  and  was 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND   FIBLD.  199 

already  sweeping  across  the  plain.  A  cloud  of  dust 
travelled  before  it,  and  a  picturesque  figure  occa- 
sionally emerging  therefrom  was  my  last  indistinct 
impression  of  George  Tryan. 


PART  II.  — IN  THE  FLOOD. 

THREE  months  after  the  survey  of  the  Espiritu 
Santo  Kancho,  I  was  again  in  the  valley  of  the 
Sacramento.  But  a  general  and  terrible  visitation 
had  erased  the  memory  of  that  event  as  completely 
as  I  supposed  it  had  obliterated  the  boundary 
monuments  I  had  planted.  The  great  flood  of 
1861-62  was  at  its  height,  when,  obeying  some 
indefinite  yearning,  I  took  my  carpet-bag  and  em- 
barked for  the  inundated  valley. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  from  the  bright 
cabin  windows  of  the  "Golden  City"  but  night 
deepening  over  the  water.  The  only  sound  was 
the  pattering  rain,  and  that  had  grown  monoto- 
nous for  the  past  two  weeks,  and  did  not  disturb 
the  national  gravity  of  my  countrymen  as  they 
silently  sat  around  the  cabin  stove.  Some  on 
errands  of  relief  to  friends  and  relatives  wore 
anxious  faces,  and  conversed  soberly  on  the  one 
absorbing  topic.  Others,  like  myself,  attracted  by 
curiosity,  listened  eagerly  to  newer  details.  But 


200  NOTES  BY   FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

with  that  human  •  disposition  to  seize  upon  any 
circumstance  that  might  give  chance  event  the 
exaggerated  importance  of  instinct,  I  was  half 
conscious  of  something  more  than  curiosity  as  an 
impelling  motive. 

The  dripping  of  rain,  the  low  gurgle  of  water, 
and  a  leaden  sky  greeted  us  the  next  morning  as 
we  lay  beside  the  half-submerged  levee  of  Sacra- 
mento. Here,  however,  the  novelty  of  boats  to 
convey  us  to  the  hotels  was  an  appeal  that  was 
irresistible.  I  resigned  myself  to  a  dripping  rub- 
ber-cased mariner  called  "  Joe,"  and,  wrapping  my- 
self in  a  shining  cloak  of  the  like  material,  about 
as  suggestive  of  warmth  as  court-plaster  might 
have  been,  took  my  seat  in  the  stern-sheets  of  his 
boat.  It  was  no  slight  inward  struggle  to  part 
from  the  steamer,  that  to  most  of  the  passengers 
was  the  only  visible  connecting  link  between  us 
and  the  dry  and  habitable  earth,  but  we  pulled 
away  and  entered  the  city,  stemming  a  rapid  cur- 
rent as  we  shot  the  levee. 

We  glided  up  the  long  level  of  K  Street,  —  once 
a  cheerful,  busy  thoroughfare,  now  distressing  in 
its  silent  desolation.  The  turbid  water  which  seemed 
to  meet  the  horizon  edge  before  us  flowed  at  right 
angles  in  sluggish  rivers  through  the  streets.  Na- 
ture had  revenged  herself  on  the  local  taste  by 
disarraying  the  regular  rectangles  by  huddling 
houses  on  street  corners,  where  they  presented 


NOTES   BY  FLOOD  AND   FIELD.  201 

abrupt  gables  to  the  current,  or  by  capsizing  them 
in  compact  ruin.  Crafts  of  all  kinds  were  gliding 
in  and  out  of  low-arched  doorways.  The  water 
was  over  the  top  of  the  fences  surrounding  well- 
kept  gardens,  in  the  first  stories  of  hotels  and 
private  dwellings,  trailing  its  slime  on  velvet  car- 
pets as  well  as  roughly  boarded  floors.  And  a 
silence  quite  as  suggestive  as  the  visible  deso- 
lation was  in  the  voiceless  streets  that  no  longer 
echoed  to  carriage-wheel  or  footfall.  The  low 
ripple  of  water,  the  occasional  splash  of  oars,  or 
the  warning  cry  of  boatmen  were  the  few  signs  of 
life  and  habitation. 

With  such  scenes  before  my  eyes  and  such 
sounds  in  my  ears,  as  I  lie  lazily  in  the  boat,  is 
mingled  the  song  of  my  gondolier  who  sings  to  the 
music  of  his  oars.  It  is  not  quite  as  romantic  as 
his  brother  of  the  Lido  might  improvise,  but  my 
Yankee  "  Giuseppe  "  has  the  advantage  of  earnest- 
ness and  energy,  and  gives  a  graphic  description 
of  the  terrors  of  the  past  week  and  of  noble  deeds 
of  self-sacrifice  and  devotion,  occasionally  pointing 
out  a  balcony  from  which  some  California  Bianca 
or  Laura  had  been  snatched,  half  clothed  and  fam- 
ished. Giuseppe  is  otherwise  peculiar,  and  re- 
fuses the  proffered  fare,  for  —  am  I  not  a  citizen 
of  San  Francisco,  which  was  first  to  respond  to  the 
suffering  cry  of  Sacramento  ?  and  is  not  he,  Giu- 
seppe, a  member  of  the  Howard  Society  ?  No ! 
9* 


202  NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND  FIELD. 

Giuseppe  is  poor,  but  cannot  take  my  money. 
Still,  if  I  must  spend  it,  there  is  the  Howard 
Society,  and  the  women  and  children  without  food 
and  clothes  at  the  Agricultural  Hall. 

I  thank  the  generous  gondolier,  and  we  go  to 
the  Hall,  —  a  dismal,  bleak  place,  ghastly  with 
the  memories  of  last  year's  opulence  and  plenty, 
and  here  Giuseppe's  fare  is  swelled  by  the  stranger's 
mite.  But  here  Giuseppe  tells  me  of  the  "  Belief 
Boat "  which  leaves  for  the  flooded  district  in  the 
interior,  and  here,  profiting  by  the  lesson  he  has 
taught  me,  I  make  the  resolve  to  turn  my  curi- 
osity to  the  account  of  others,  and  am  accepted  of 
those  who  go  forth  to  succor  and  help  the  afflicted. 
Giuseppe  takes  charge  of  my  carpet-bag,  and-  does 
not  part  from  me  until  I  stand  on  the  slippery 
deck  of  "  Eelief  Boat  No.  3." 

An  hour  later  I  am  in  the  pilot-house,  looking 
down  upon  what  was  once  the  channel  of  a  peace- 
ful river.  But  its  banks  are  only  defined  by  tossing 
tufts  of  willow  washed  by  the  long  swell  that 
breaks  over  a  vast  inland  sea.  Stretches  of  "  tule  " 
land  fertilized  by  its  once  regular  channel  and 
dotted  by  flourishing  ranches  are  now  cleanly 
erased.  The  cultivated  profile  of  the  old  land- 
scape had  faded.  Dotted  lines  in  symmetrical 
perspective  mark  orchards  that*  are  buried  and 
chilled  in  the  turbid  flood.  The  roofs  of  a  few 
farm-houses  are  visible,  and  here  and  there  the 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD.  203 

smoke  curling  from  chimneys  of  half-submerged 
tenements  show  an  undaunted  life  within.  Cattle 
and  sheep  are  gathered  on  Indian  mounds  waiting 
the  fate  of  their  companions  whose  carcasses  drift 
by  us,  or  swing  in  eddies  with  the  wrecks  of  barns 
and  out-houses.  Wagons  are  stranded  everywhere 
where  the  tide  could  carry  them.  As  I  wipe  the 
moistened  glass,  I  see  nothing  but  water,  pattering 
on  the  deck  from  the  lowering  clouds,  dashing 
against  the  window,  dripping  from  the  willows, 
hissing  by  the  wheels,  everywhere  washing,  coil- 
ing, sapping,  hurrying  in  rapids,  or  swelling  at  last 
into  deeper  and  vaster  lakes,  awful  in  their  sug- 
gestive quiet  and  concealment. 

As  day  fades  into  night  the  monotony  of  this 
strange  prospect  grows  oppressive.  I  seek  the 
engine-room,  and  in  the  company  of  some  of  the 
few  half-drowned  sufferers  we  have  already  picked 
up  from  temporary  rafts,  I  forget  the  general 
aspect  of  desolation  in  their  individual  misery. 
Later  we  meet  the  San  Francisco  packet,  and 
transfer  a  number  of  our  passengers.  From  them 
we  learn  how  inward-bound  vessels  report  to  hav- 
ing struck  the  well-defined  channel  of  the  Sa- 
cramento, fifty  milefi  beyond  the  bar.  There  is 
a  voluntary  contribution  taken  among  the  gener- 
ous travellers  for  the  use  of  our  afflicted,  and  we 
part  company  with  a  hearty  "God  speed"  on 
either  side.  But  our  signal-lights  are  not  far  dis- 


204  NOTES  BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

tant  before  a  familiar  sound  conies  back  to  us, — 
an  indomitable  Yankee  cheer,  —  which  scatters  the 
gloom. 

Our  course  is  altered,  and  we  are  steaming  over 
the  obliterated  banks  far  in  the  interior.  Once  or 
twice  black  objects  loom  up  near  us,  —  the  wrecks 
of  houses  floating  by.  There  is  a  slight  rift  in  the 
sky  towards  the  north,  and  a  few  bearing  stars  to 
guide  us  over  the  waste.  As  we  penetrate  into 
shallower  water,  it  is  deemed  advisable  to  divide 
our  party  into  smaller  boats,  and  diverge  over  the 
submerged  prairie.  I  borrow  a  pea-coat  of  one  of 
the  crew,  and  in  that  practical  disguise  am  doubt- 
fully permitted  to  pass  into  one  of  the  boats.  We 
give  way  northerly.  It  is  quite  dark  yet,  although 
the  rift  of  cloud  has  widened. 

It  must  have  been  about  three  o'clock,  and  we 
were  lying  upon  our  oars  in  an  eddy  formed  by  a 
clump  of  cotton  wood,  and  the  light  of  the  steamer 
is  a  solitary,  bright  star  in  the  distance,  when  the 
silence  is  broken  by  the  "  bow  oar  "  :  — 

"  Light  ahead." 

All  eyes  are  turned  in  that  direction.  In  a  few 
seconds  a  twinkling  light  appears,  shines  steadily, 
and  again  disappears  as  if  by  tjie  shifting  position 
of  some  black  object  apparently  drifting  close 
upon  us. 

"  Stern,  all ;  a  steamer  ! " 

"  Hold  hard  there  !     Steamer  be  d— d  !"  is  the 


NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND  FIELD.  205 

reply  of  the  coxswain..  "  It 's  a  house,  and  a  big 
one  too." 

It  is  a  big  one,  looming  in  the  starlight  like  a 
huge  fragment  of  the  darkness.  The  light  comes 
from  a  single  candle,  which  shines  through  a 
window  as  the  great  shape  swings  by.  Some 
recollection  is  drifting  back  to  me  with  it,  as  I 
listen  with  beating  heart. 

"  There  's  some  one  in  it,  by  Heavens  !  Give 
way,  boys,  —  lay  her  alongside.  Handsomely,  now ! 
The  door  's  fastened ;  try  the  window  ;  no !  here 's 
another  ! " 

In  another  moment  we  are  trampling  in  the 
water,  which  washes  the  floor  to  the  depth  of  sev- 
eral inches.  It  is  a  large  room,  at  the  further  end 
of  which  an  old  man  is  sitting  wrapped  in  a 
blanket,  holding  a  candle  in  one  hand,  and  appar- 
ently absorbed  in  the  book  he  holds  with  the 
other.  I  spring  toward  him  with  an  exclama- 
tion :  — 

"  Joseph  Tryan  ! " 

He  does  not  move.  We  gather  closer  to  him, 
and  I  lay  my  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder,  and 
say:  — 

"  Look  up,  old  man,  look  up  !  Your  wife  and 
children,  where  are  they  ?  The  boys,  —  George  ! 
Are  they  here  ?  are  they  safe  ?  " 

He  raises  his  head  slowly,  and  turns  his  eyes  to 
mine,  and  we  involuntarily  recoil  before  his  look. 


206  NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

It  is  a  calm  and  quiet  glance,  free  from  fear,  anger, 
or  pain  ;  but  it  somehow  sends  the  blood  curdling 
through  our  veins.  He  bowed  his  head  over  his 
book  again,  taking  no  further  notice  of  us.  The 
men  look  at  me  compassionately,  and  hold  their 
peace.  I  make  one  more  effort :  — 

"  Joseph  Tryan,  don't  you  know  me  ?  the  sur- 
veyor who  surveyed  your  ranch,  —  the  Espiritu 
Santo  ?  Look  up,  old  man  ! " 

He  shuddered  and  wrapped  himself  closer  in  his 
blanket.  Presently  he  repeated  to  himself,  "  The 
surveyor  who  surveyed  your  ranch,  —  Espiritu 
Santo,"  over  and  over  again,  as  though  it  were  a 
lesson  he  was  trying  to  fix  in  his  memory. 

I  was  turning  sadly  to  the  boatmen,  when  he 
suddenly  caught  me  fearfully  by  the  hand  and 
said,  — 

"Hush!" 

We  were  silent. 

"  Listen ! "  He  puts  his  arm  around  my  neck 
and  whispers  in  my  ear,  "  I  'm  a  moving  off  !  " 

"  Moving  off  ? " 

"  Hush !  Don't  speak  so  loud.  Moving  off. 
Ah  !  wot 's  that  ?  Don't  you  hear  ?  —  there  !  lis- 
ten !" 

We  listen,  and  hear  the  water  gurgle  and  click 
beneath  the  floor. 

"  It 's  them  wot  he  sent  !  —  Old  Altascar  sent. 
They  've  been  here  all  night.  I  heard  'em  first  in 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD.  207 

the  creek,  when  they  came  to  tell  the  old  man  to 
move  farther  off.  They  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
They  whispered  under  the  door,  and  I  saw  their 
eyes  on  the  step,  —  their  cruel,  hard  eyes.  Ah, 
why  don't  they  quit  ? " 

I  tell  the  men  to  search  the  room  and  see  if  they 
can  find  any  further  traces  of  the  family,  while 
Tryan  resumes  his  old  attitude.  It  is  so  much 
like  the  figure  I  remember  on  the  breezy  night 
that  a  superstitious  feeling  is  fast  overcoming  me. 
When  they  have  returned,  I  tell  them  briefly  what 
I  know  of  him,  and  the  old  man  murmurs  again,  — 

"  Why  don't  they  quit,  then  ?  They  have  the 
stock,  —  all  gone  —  gone,  gone  for  the  hides  and 
hoofs,"  and  he  groans  bitterly. 

"  There  are  other  boats  below  us.  The  shanty 
cannot  have  drifted  far,  and  perhaps  the  family  are 
safe  by  this  time,"  says  the  coxswain,  hopefully. 

We  lift  the  old  man  up,  for  he  is  quite  helpless, 
and  carry  him  to  the  boat.  He  is  still  grasping 
the  Bible  in  his  right  hand,  though  its  strengthen- 
ing grace  is  blank  to  his  vacant  eye,  and  he  cowers 
in  the  stern  as  we  pull  slowly  to  the  steamer,  while 
a  pale  gleam  in  the  sky  shows  the  coming  day. 

I  was  weary  with  excitement,  and  when  we 
reached  the  steamer,  and  I  had  seen  Joseph  Tryan 
comfortably  bestowed,  I  wrapped  myself  in  a 
blanket  near  the  boiler  and  presently  fell  asleep. 
But  even  then  the  figure  of  the  old  man  often  started 


208  NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

before  me,  and  a  sense  of  uneasiness  about  George 
made  a  strong  undercurrent  to  my  drifting  dreams. 
I  was  awakened  at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning  by  the  engineer,  who  told  me  one  of  the 
old  man's  sons  had  been  picked  up  and  was  now  on 
board. 

"  Is  it  George  Tryan  ?  "  I  ask  quickly. 

"  Don't  know ;  but  he  's  a  sweet  one,  whoever  he 
is,"  adds  the  engineer,  with  a  smile  at  some  luscious 
remembrance.  "  You  '11  find  him  for'ard." 

I  hurry  to  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  find,  not 
George,  but  the  irrepressible  Wise,  sitting  on  a 
coil  of  rope,  a  little  dirtier  and  rather  more  dilapi- 
dated than  I  can  remember  having  seen  him. 

He  is  examining,  with  apparent  admiration,  some 
rough,  dry  clothes  that  have  been  put  out  for  his 
disposal.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  circum- 
stances have  somewhat  exalted  his  usual  cheerful- 
ness. He  puts  me  at  my  ease  by  at  once  address- 
ing me  :  — 

II  These  are  high  old  times,  ain't  they  ?     I  say, 
what    do   you  reckon   's   become*  o'    them    thar 
bound'ry  moniments  you  stuck  ?    Ah  1 " 

The  pause  which  succeeds  this  outburst  is  the 
effect  of  a  spasm  of  admiration  at  a  pair  of  high 
boots,  which,  by  great  exertion,  he  has  at  last 
pulled  on  his  feet. 

"  So  you  've  picked  up  the  ole  man  in  the 
shanty,  clean  crazy  ?  He  must  have  been  soft 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD   AND  FIELD.  209 

to  have  stuck  there  instead  o'  leavin'  with  the  old 
woman.  Did  n't  know  me  from  Adam  ;  took  me 
for  George  ! " 

At  this  affecting  instance  of  paternal  forgetful- 
ness,  Wise  was  evidently  divided  between  amuse- 
ment and  chagrin.  I  took  advantage  of  the  con- 
tending emotions  to  ask  about  George. 

"  Don't  know  whar  he  is  !  If  he  'd  tended 
stock  instead  of  running  about  the  prairie,  packin' 
off  wimmin  and  children,  he  might  have  saved 
suthin.  He  lost  every  hoof  and  hide,  I  '11  bet  a 
cookey  !  Say  you,"  to  a  passing  boatman,  "  when 
are  you  goin'  to  give  us  some  grub  ?  I  'm  hungry 
'nough  to  skin  and  eat  a  hoss.  Eeckon  I  '11  turn 
butcher  when  things  is  dried  up,  and  save  hides, 
horns,  and  taller." 

I  could  not  but  admire  this  indomitable  energy, 
which  under  softer  climatic  influences  might  have 
borne  such  goodly  fruit. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  what  you  '11  do,  Wise  ? "  I 
ask. 

"  Thar  ain't  much  to  do  now,"  says  the  practical 
young  man.  "  I  '11  have  to  lay  over  a  spell,  I 
reckon,  till  things  comes,  straight.  The  land  ain't 
worth  much  now,  and  won't  be,  I  dessay,  for  some 
time.  Wonder  whar  the  ole  man  '11  drive  stakes 
next." 

"  I  meant  as  to  your  father  and  George,  Wise." 

"  0,  the  ole  man  and  I  '11  go  on  to  '  Miles's, '  whar 

N 


210  NOTES   BY  FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

Tom  packed  the  old  woman  and  babies  last  week. 
George  '11  turn  up  somewhar  atween  this  and 
Altascar's,  ef  he  ain't  thar  now." 

I  ask  how  the  Altascars  have  suffered. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  he  ain't  lost  much  in  stock.  I 
should  n't  wonder  if  George  helped  him  drive  'em 
up  the  foot-hills.  And  his  '  casa '  's  built  too  high. 
0,  thar  ain't  any  water  thar,  you  bet.  Ah/'  says 
Wise,  with  reflective  'admiration,  "  those  greasers 
ain't  the  darned  fools  people  thinks  'em.  I  '11  bet 
thar  ain't  one  swamped  out  in  all'er  Californy." 
But  the  appearance  of  "  grub,"  cut  this  rhapsody 
short. 

"  I  shall  keep  on  a  little  farther,"  I  say,  "  and 
try  to  find  George." 

Wise  stared  a  moment  at  this  eccentricity  until 
a  new  light  dawned  upon  him. 

"  I  don't  think  you  '11  save  much.  What 's  the 
percentage,  —  workin'  on  shares,  eh  ! " 

I  answer  that  I  am  only  curious,  which  I  feel 
lessens  his  opinion  of  me,  and  with  a  sadder  feel- 
ing than  his  assurance  of  George's  safety  might 
warrant,  I  walked  away. 

From  others  whom  we  picked  up  from  time  to 
time  we  heard  of  George's  self-sacrificing  devo- 
tion, with  the  praises  of  the  many  he  had  helped 
and  rescued.  But  I  did  not  feel  disposed  to  re- 
turn until  I  had  seen  him,  and  soon  prepared  my- 
self to  take  a  boat  to  the  lower  "valda"  of  the 


NOTES   BY   FLOOD  AND   FIELD.  211 

foot-hills,  and  visit  Altascar.  I  soon  perfected 
my  arrangements,  bade  farewell  to  Wise,  and  took 
a  last  look  at  the  old  man,  who  was  sitting  by  the 
furnace-fires  quite  passive  and  composed.  Then 
our  boat-head  swung  round,  pulled  by  sturdy  and 
willing  hands. 

It  was  again  raining,  and  a  disagreeable  wind 
had  risen.  Our  course  lay  nearly  west,  and  we 
soon  knew  by  the  strong  current  that  we  were  in 
the  creek  of  the  Espiritu  Santo.  From  time  to 
time  the  wrecks  of  barns  were  seen,  and  we 
passed  many  half-submerged  willows  hung  with, 
farming  implements. 

We  emerge  at  last  into  a  broad  silent  sea.  It  is 
the  "  llano  de  Espiritu  Santo."  As  the  wind  whis- 
tles by  me,  piling  the  shallower  fresh  water  into 
mimic  waves,  I  go  back,  in  fancy,  to  the  long  ride 
of  October  over  that  boundless  plain,  and  recall 
the  sharp  outlines  of  the  distant  hills  which  are 
now  lost  in  the  lowering  clouds.  The  men  are 
rowing  silently,  and  I  find  my  mind,  released  from 
its  tension,  growing  benumbed  and  depressed  as 
then.  The  water,  too,  is  getting  more  shallow  as 
we  leave  the  banks  of  the  creek,  and  with  my 
hand  dipped  listlessly  over  the  thwarts,  I  detect 
the  tops  of  chimisal,  which  shows  the  tide  to  have 
somewhat  fallen.  There  is  a  black  mound,  bear- 
ing to  the  north  of  the  line  of  alder,  making  an 
adverse  current,  which,  as  we  sweep  to  the  right  to 


212  NOTES   BY   FLOOD  AND   FIELD. 

avoid,  I  recognize.  We  pull  close  alongside  and 
I  call  to  the  men  to  stop. 

There  was  a  stake  driven  near  its  summit  with 
the  initials,  "  L.  E.  S.  I."  Tied  half-way  down  was 
a  curiously  worked  "  riata."  It  was  George's.  It 
had  been  cut  with  some  sharp  instrument,  and  the 
loose  gravelly  soil  of  the  mound  was  deeply  dented 
with  horse's  hoofs.  The  stake  was  covered  with 
horse-hairs.  It  was  a  record,  but  no  clew. 

The  wind  had  grown  more  violent,  as  we  still 
fought  our  way  forward,  resting  and  rowing  by 
,  turns,  and  oftener  "  poling  "  the  shallower  surface, 
but  the  old  "  valda,"  or  bench,  is  still  distant. 
My  recollection  of  the  old  survey  enables  me  to 
guess  the  relative  position  of  the  nieanderings  of 
the  creek,  and  an  occasional  simple  professional 
experiment  to  determine  the  distance  gives  my 
crew  the  fullest  faith  in  my  ability.  Night  over- 
takes us  in  our  impeded  progress.  Our  condition 
looks  more  dangerous  than  it  really  is,  but  I  urge 
the  men,  many  of  whom  are  still  new  in  this  mode 
of  navigation,  to  greater  exertion  by  assurance  of 
perfect  safety  and  speedy  relief  ahead.  We  go  on 
in  this  way  until  about  eight  o'clock,  and  ground 
by  the  willows.  We  have  a  muddy  walk  for  a 
few  hundred  yards  before  we  strike  a  dry  trail, 
and  simultaneously  the  white  walls  of  Altascar's 
appear  like  a  snow-bank  before  us.  Lights  are 
moving  in  the  courtyard  ;  but  otherwise  the  old 
tomb-like  repose  characterizes  the  building. 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  ,213 

One  of  the  peons  recognized  me  as  I  entered  the 
court,  and  Altascar  met  me  on  the  corridor. 

I  was  too  weak  to  do  more  than  beg  his  hospi- 
tality for  the  men  who  had  dragged  wearily  with 
me.  He  looked  at  my  hand,  which  still  un- 
consciously held  the  broken  "  riata."  I  began, 
wearily,  to  tell  him  about  George  and  my  fears, 
but  with  a  gentler  courtesy  than  was  even  his 
wont,  he  gravely  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Poco  a  poco  Seiior,  —  not  now.  You  are  tired, 
you  have  hunger,  you  have  cold.  Necessary  it  is 
you  should  have  peace." 

He  took  us  into  a  small  room  and  poured  out 
some  French  cognac,  which  he  gave  to  the  men 
that  had  accompanied  me.  They  drank  and  threw 
themselves  before  the  fire  in  the  larger  room.  The 
repose  of  the  building  was  intensified  that  night, 
and  I  eyen  fancied  that  the  footsteps  on  the  cor- 
ridor were  lighter  and  softer.  The  old  Spaniard's 
habitual  gravity  was  deeper ;  we  might  have  been 
shut  out  from  the  world  as  well  as  the  whistling 
storm,  behind  those  ancient  walls  with  their  time- 
worn  inheritor. 

Before  I  could  repeat  my  inquiry  he  retired. 
In  a  few  minutes  two  smoking  dishes  of  "  chupa  " 
with  coffee-  were  placed  before  us,  and  my  men 
ate  ravenously.  I  drank  the  coffee,  but  my  ex- 
citement and  weariness  kept  down  the  instincts 
of  hunger. 


214%  NOTES   BY   FLOOD   AND   FIELD. 

I  was  sitting  sadly  by  the  fire  when  he  re-en- 
tered. . 

"You  have  eat?" 

I  said,  "Yes,"  to  please  him. 

"  Bueno,  eat  when  you  can,  —  food  and  appetite 
are  not  always." 

He  said  this  with  that  Sancho-like  simplicity 
with  which  most  of  his  countrymen  utter  a 
proverb,  as  though  it  were  an  experience  rather 
than  a  legend,  and,  taking  the  "  riata  "  from  the 
floor,  held  it  almost  tenderly  before  him. 

"  It  was  made  by  me,  Seiior." 

"  I  kept  it  as  a  clew  to  him,  Don  Altascar,"  I 
said.  "  If  I  could  find  him  —  " 

"  He  is  here." 

"  Here  !  and  "  —  but  I  could  not  say,  "  weU  !  " 
I  understood  the  gravity  of  the  old  man's  face,  the 
hushed  footfalls,  the  tomb-like  repose  of  the  build- 
ing in  an  electric  flash  of  consciousness  ;  I  held 
the  clew  to  the  broken  riata  at  last.  Altascar  took 
my  hand,  and  we  crossed  the  corridor  to  a  sombre 
apartment.  A  few  tall  candles  were  burning  in 
sconces  before  the  window. 

In  an  alcove  there  was  a  deep  bed  with  its 
counterpane,  pillows,  and  sheets  heavily  edged 
with  lace,  in  all  that  splendid  luxury*  which  the 
humblest  of  these  strange  people  lavish  upon  this 
single  item  of  their  household.  I  stepped  beside 
it  and  saw  George  lying,  as  I  had  seen  him  once 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD   AND  FIELD.  215 

before,  peacefully  at  rest.  But  a  greater  sacrifice 
than  that  he  had  known  was  here,  and  his  gen- 
erous heart  was  stilled  forever. 

"  He  was  honest  and  brave/'  said  the  old  man, 
and  turned  away. 

There  was  another  figure  in  the  room  ;  a  heavy 
shawl  drawn  over  her  graceful  outline,  and  her 
long  black  hair  hiding  the  hands  that  buried  her 
downcast  face.  I  did  not  seem  to  notice  her,  and, 
retiring  presently,  left  the  loving  and  loved  to- 
gether. 

When  we  were  again  beside  the  crackling  fire, 
in  the  shifting  shadows  of  the  great  chamber,  Al- 
tascar  told  me  how  he  had  that  morning  met  the 
horse  of  George  Tryan  swimming  on  the  prairie ; 
how  that,  farther  on,  he  found  him  lying,  quite 
cold  and  dead,  with  no  marks  or  bruises  on  his 
person ;  that  he  had  probably  become  exhausted 
in  fording  the  creek,  and  that  he  had  as  probably 
reached  the  mound  only  to  die  for  want  of  that 
help  he  had  so  freely  given  to  others  ;  that,  as  a 
last  act,  he  had  freed  his  horse.  These  incidents 
were  corroborated  by  many  who  collected  in  the 
great  chamber  that  evening, — women  and  chil- 
dren,—  most  of  them  succored  through  the  de- 
voted energies  of  him  who  lay  cold  and  lifeless 
above.' 

He  was  buried  in  the  Indian  mound,  —  the 
single  spot  of  strange  perennial  greenness,  which 


216  NOTES  BY   FLOOD  AND   FIELD. 

the  poor  aborigines  had  raised  above  the  dusty 
plain.  A  little  slab  of  sandstone  with  the  initials 
"  Gr.  T."  is  his  monument,  and  one  of  the  bearings 
of  the  initial  corner  of  the  new  survey  of  the 
"  Espiritu  Santo  Eancho." 


BOHEMIAN   PAPERS 


10 


THE  MISSION*  DOLOKES. 

THE  Mission  Dolores  is  destined  to  be  "  The 
Last  Sigh  "  of  the  native  Calif ornian.  When 
the  fast  "Greaser"  shall  indolently  give  way  to 
the  bustling  Yankee,  I  can  imagine  he  will,  like 
the  Moorish  King,  ascend  one  of  the  Mission  hills 
to  take  his  last  lingering  look  at  the  hilled  city. 
For  a  long  time  he  will  cling  tenaciously  to  Pacific 
Street.  He  will  delve  in  the  rocky  fastnesses  of 
Telegraph  Hill  until  progress  shall  remove  it.  He 
will  haunt  Vallejo  Street,  and  those  back  slums 
which  so  vividly  typify  the  degradation  of  a  peo- 
ple ;  but  he  will  eventually  make  way  for  improve- 
ment. The  Mission  will  be  last  to  drop  from  his 
nerveless  fingers. 

As  I  stand  here  this  pleasant  afternoon,  looking 
up  at  the  old  chapel,  —  its  ragged  senility  con- 
trasting with  the  smart  spring  sunshine,  its  two 
gouty  pillars  with  the  plaster  dropping  away  like 
tattered  bandages,  its  rayless  windows,  its  crum- 
bling entrances,  the  leper  spots  on  its  whitewashed 
wall  eating  through  the  dark  adobe,  —  I  give  the 
poor  old  mendicant  but  a  few  years  longer  to  sit 
by  the  highway  and  ask  alms  in  the  names  of  the 


220  THE   MISSION  DOLORES. 

blessed  saints.  Already  the  vicinity  is  haunted  with 
the  shadow  of  its  dissolution.  The  shriek  of  the 
locomotive  discords  with  the  Angelus  bell.  An 
Episcopal  church,  of  a  green  Gothic  type,  with  mas- 
sive buttresses  of  Oregon  pine,  even  now  mocks  its 
hoary  age  with  imitation  and  supplants  it  with  a 
sham.  Vain,  alas  !  were  those  rural  accessories,  the 
nurseries  and  market-gardens,  that  once  gathered 
about  its  walls  and  resisted  civic  encroachment. 
They,  too,  are  passing  away.  Even  those  queer  lit- 
tle adobe  buildings  with  tiled  roofs  like  longitudi- 
nal slips  of  cinnamon,  and  walled  enclosures  sa- 
credly guarding  a  few  bullock  horns  and  strips  of 
hide.  I  look  in  vain  for  the  half -reclaimed  Mexi- 
can, whose  respectability  stopped  at  his  waist,  and 
whose  red  sash  under  his  vest  was  the  utter  undo- 
ing of  his  black  broadcloth.  I  miss,  too,  those 
black-haired  women,  with  swaying  unstable  busts, 
whose  dresses  were  always  unseasonable  in  texture 
and  pattern  ;  whose  wearing  of  a  shawl  was  a  ter- 
rible awakening  from  the  poetic  dream  of  the 
Spanish  mantilla.  Traces  of  another  nationality 
are  visible.  The  railroad  "  navvy  "  has  builded  his 
shanty  near  the  chapel,  and  smokes  his  pipe  in  the 
Posada.  Gutturals  have  taken  the  place  of  linguals 
and  sibilants  ;  I  miss  the  half-chanted,  half-drawled 
cadences  that  used  to  mingle  with  the  cheery  "  All 
aboard  "  of  the  stage-driver,  in  those  good  old  days 
when  the  stages  ran  hourly  to  the  Mission,  and  a 


THE  MISSION   DOLORES.  221 

trip  thither  was  an  excursion.  At  the  very  gates 
of  the  temple,  in  the  place  of  those  "who  sell 
doves  for  sacrifice,"  a  vender  of  mechanical 
spiders  'has  halted  with  his  unhallowed  wares. 
Even  the  old  Padre  —  last  type  of  the  Missionary, 
and  descendant  of  the  good  Junipero  —  I  cannot 
find  to-day ;  in  his  stead  a  light-haired  Celt  is 
reading  a  lesson  from  a  Vulgate  that  is  wonderfully 
replete  with  double  r's.  Gentle  priest,  in  thy  R- 
isons,  let  the  stranger  and  heretic  be  remembered. 
I  open  a  little  gate  and  enter  the  Mission  Church- 
yard. There  is  no  change  here,  though  perhaps 
the  graves  lie  closer  together.  A  willow-tree, 
growing  beside  the  deep,  brown  wall,  has  burst 
into  tufted  plumes  in  the  fulness  of  spring.  The 
tall  grass-blades  over  each  mound  show  a  strange 
quickening  of  the  soil  below.  It  is  pleasanter 
here  than  on  the  bleak  mountain  seaward,  where 
distracting  winds  continually  bring  the  strife  and 
turmoil  of  the  -ocean.  The  Mission  hills  lovingly 
embrace  the  little  cemetery,  whose  decorative  taste 
is  less  ostentatious.  The  foreign  flavor  is  strong  ; 
here  are  never-failing  garlands  of  immortelles,  with 
their  sepulchral  spicery ;  here  are  little  cheap 
medallions  of  pewter,  with  the  adornment  of  three 
black  tears,  that  would  look  like  the  three  of  clubs, 
but  that  the  simple  humility  of  the  inscription 
counterbalances  all  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  Here 
are  children's  graves  with  guardian  angels  of  great 


222  THE   MISSION  DOLORES. 

specific  gravity ;  but  here,  too,  are  the  little  one's 
toys  in  a  glass  case  beside  them.  Here  is  the  av- 
erage quantity  of  execrable  original  verses  ;  but 
one  stanza  —  over  a  sailor's  grave  —  is  striking, 
for  it  expresses  a  hope  of  salvation  through  the 
"  Lord  High  Admiral  Christ "  !  Over  the  foreign 
graves  there  is  a  notable  lack  of  scriptural  quota- 
tion, and  an  increase,  if  I  may  say  it,  of  humanity 
and  tenderness.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  too 
many  of  my  countrymen  are  influenced  by  a  mor- 
bid desire  to  make  a  practical  point  of  this  occa- 
sion, and  are  too  apt  hastily  to  crowd  a  whole  life 
of  omission  into  the  culminating  act.  But  when 
I  see  the  gray  immortelles  crowning  a  tombstone,  I 
know  I  shall  find  the  mysteries  of  the  resurrec- 
tion shown  rather  in  symbols,  and  only  the  love 
taught  in  His  new  commandment  left  for  the 
graphic  touch.  But  "they  manage  these  things 
better  in  France." 

During  my  purposeless  ramble  the  sun  has  been 
steadily  climbing  the  brown  wall  of  the  church, 
and  the  air  seems  to  grow  cold  and  raw.  The 
bright  green  dies  out  of  the  grass,  and  the  rich 
bronze  comes  down  from  the  wall.  The  willow- 
tree  seems  half  inclined  to  doff  its  plumes,  and 
wears  the  dejected  air  of  a  broken  faith  and  vio- 
lated trust.  The  spice  of  the  immortelles  mixes 
with  the  incense  that  steals  through  the  open  win- 


THE  MISSION  DOLORES. 

dow.  Within,  the  barbaric  gilt  and  crimson  look 
cold  and  cheap  in  this  searching  air;  by  this  light 
the  church  certainly  is  old  and  ugly.  I  cannot 
help  wondering  whether  the  old  Fathers,  if  they 
ever  revisit  the  scene  of  their  former  labors,  in  their 
larger  comprehensions,  view  with  regret  the  im- 
pending change,  or  mourn  over  the  day  when  the 
Mission  Dolores  shall  appropriately  come  to  grief. 


JOHN  CHINAMAN. 

THE  expression  of  the  Chinese  face  in  the 
aggregate  is  neither  cheerful  nor  happy.  In 
an  acquaintance  of  half  a  dozen  years,  I  can 
only  recall  one  or  two  exceptions  to  this  rule. 
There  is  an  abiding  consciousness  of  degradation, 
—  a  secret  pain  or  self-humiliation  visible  in  the 
lines  of  the  mouth  and  eye.  Whether  it  is  only 
a  modification  of  Turkish  gravity,  or  whether  it 
is  the  dread  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  the  Drug 
through  which  they  are  continually  straying,  I 
cannot  say.  They  seldom  smile,  and  their  laugh- 
ter is  of  such  an  extraordinary  and  sardonic  na- 
ture —  so  purely  a  mechanical  spasm,  quite  inde- 
pendent of  any  mirthful  attribute  —  that  to  this 
day  I  am  doubtful  whether  I  ever  saw  a  Chinaman 
laugh.  A  theatrical  representation  by  natives, 
one  might  think,  would  have  set  my  mind  at  ease 
on  this  point ;  but  it  did  not.  Indeed,  a  new  dif- 
ficulty presented  itself,  —  the  impossibility  of  de- 
termining whether  the  performance  was  a  tragedy 
or  farce.  I  thought  I  detected  the  low  comedian 
in  an  active  youth  who  turned  two  somersaults, 
and  knocked  everybody  down  on  entering  the 


JOHN  CHINAMAN.  225 

stage.  But,  unfortunately,  even  this  classic  resem- 
blance to  the  legitimate  farce  of  our  civilization 
was  deceptive.  Another  brocaded  actor,  who  rep- 
resented the  hero  of  the  play,  turned  three  somer- 
saults, and  not  only  upset  my  theory  and  his  fel- 
low-actors at  the  same  time,  but  apparently  run 
a-muck  behind  the  scenes  for  some  time  after- 
ward. I  looked  around  at  the  glinting  white 
teeth  to  observe  the  effect  of  these  two  palpable 
hits.  They  were  received  with  equal  acclamation, 
and  apparently  equal  facial  spasms.  One  or  two 
beheadings  which  enlivened  the  play  produced 
the  same  sardonic  effect,  and  left  upon  my  mind 
a  painful  anxiety  to  know  what  was  the  serious 
business  of  life  in  China.  It  was  noticeable,  how- 
ever, that  my  unrestrained  laughter  had  a  discord- 
ant effect,  and  that  triangular  eyes  sometimes 
turned  ominously  toward  the  "  Fanqui  devil "  ; 
but  as  I  retired  discreetly  before  the  play  was 
finished,  there  were  no  serious  results.  I  have 
only  given  the  above  as  an  instance  of  the  impos- 
sibility of  deciding  upon  the  outward  and  superfi- 
cial expression  of  Chinese  mirth.  Of  its  inner 
and  deeper  existence  I  have  some  private  doubts. 
An  audience  that  will  view  with  a  serious  aspect 
the  hero,  after  a  frightful  and  agonizing  death, 
get  up  and  quietly  walk  off  the  stage,  cannot  be 
said  to  have  remarkable  perceptions  of  the  ludi- 
crous. 

10*  o 


226  JOHN  CHINAMAN. 

I  have  often  been  struck  with,  the  delicate  plia- 
bility of  the  Chinese  expression  and  taste,  that 
might  suggest  a  broader  and  deeper  criticism  than 
is  becoming  these  pages.  A  Chinaman  will  adopt 
the  American  costume,  and  wear  it  with  a  taste  of 
color  and  detail  that  will  surpass  those  "  native, 
and  to  the  manner  born."  To  look  at  a  Chinese 
slipper,  one  might  imagine  it  impossible  to  shape 
the  original  foot  to  anything  less  cumbrous  and 
roomy,  yet  a  neater-fitting  boot  than  that  belong- 
ing to  the  Americanized  Chinaman  is  rarely  seen 
on  this  side  of  the  Continent.  When  the  loose 
sack  or  paletot  takes  the  place  of  his  brocade 
blouse,  it  is  worn  with  a  refinement  and  grace  that 
might  bring  a  jealous  pang  to  the  exquisite  of  our 
more  refined  civilization.  Pantaloons  fall  easily 
and  naturally  over  legs  that  have  known  unlimited 
freedom  and  bagginess,  and  even  garrote  collars 
meet  correctly  around  sun-tanned  throats.  The 
new  expression  seldom  overflows  in  gaudy  cravats. 
I  will  back  my  Americanized  Chinaman  against 
any  neophyte  of  European  birth  in  the  choice  of 
that  article.  While  in  our  own  State,  the  Greaser 
resists  one  by  one  the  garments  of  the  Northern 
invader,  and  even  wears  the  livery  of  his  conqueror 
with  a  wild  and  buttonless  freedom,  the  China- 
man, abused  and  degraded  as  he  is,  changes 
by  correctly  graded  transition  to  the  garments  of 
Christian  civilization.  There  is  but  one  article  of 


JOHN   CHINAMAN.  227 

European  wear  that  he  avoids.  These  Bohemian 
eyes  have  never  yet  been  pained  by  the  spectacle 
of  a  tall  hat  on  the  head  of  an  intelligent  China- 
man. 

My  acquaintance  with  John  has  been  made  up 
of  weekly  interviews,  involving  the  adjustment  of 
the  washing  accounts,  so  that  I  have  not  been  able 
to  study  his  character  from  a  social  view-point  or 
observe  him  in  the  privacy  of  the  domestic  circle. 
I  have  gathered  enough  to  justify  me  in  believing 
him  to  be  generally  honest,  faithful,  simple,  and 
painstaking.  Of  his  simplicity  let  me  record  an 
instance  where  a  sad  and  civil  young  Chinaman 
brought  me  certain  shirts  with  most  of  the  but- 
tons missing  and  others  hanging  on  delusively  by 
a  single  thread.  In  a  moment  of  unguarded  irony 
I  informed  him  that  unity  would  at  least  have 
been  preserved  if  the  buttons  were  removed  alto- 
gether. He  smiled  sadly  and  went  away.  I 
thought  I  had  hurt  his  feelings,  until  the  next 
week  when  he  brought  me  my  shirts  with  a  look  of 
intelligence,  and  the  buttons  carefully  and  totally 
erased.  At  another  time,  to  guard  against  his 
general  disposition  to  carry  off  anything  as  soiled 
clothes  that  he  thought  could  hold  water,  I  re- 
quested him  to  always  wait  until  he  saw  me. 
Coming  home  late  one  evening,  I  found  the  house- 
hold in  great  consternation,  over  an  immovable 
Celestial  who  had  remained  seated  on  the  front 


228  JOHN   CHINAMAN. 

door-step  during  the  day,  sad  and  submissive,  firm 
but  also  patient,  and  only  betraying  any  animation 
or  token  of  his  mission  when  he  saw  me  coming. 
This  same  Chinaman  evinced  some  evidences  of 
regard  for  a  little  girl  in  the  family,  who  in  her 
turn  reposed  such  faith  in  his  intellectual  qualities 
as  to  present  him  with  a  preternaturally  unin- 
teresting Sunday-school  book,  her  own  property. 
This  book  John  made  a  point  of  carrying  osten- 
tatiously with  him  in  his  weekly  visits.  It  ap- 
peared usually  on  the  top  of  the  clean  clothes, 
and  was  sometimes  painfully  clasped  outside  of 
the  big  bundle  of  solid  linen.  Whether  John  be- 
lieved he  unconsciously  imbibed  some  spiritual 
life  through  its  pasteboard  cover,  as  the  Prince  in 
the  Arabian  Nights  imbibed  the  medicine  through 
the  handle  of  the  mallet,  or  whether  he  wished  to 
exhibit  a  due  sense  of  gratitude,  or  whether  he 
hadn't  any  pockets,  I  have  never  been  able  to 
ascertain.  In  his  turn  he  would  sometimes  cut 
marvellous  imitation  roses  from  carrots  for  his  lit- 
tle friend.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  few 
roses  strewn  in  John's  path  were  such  scentless 
imitations.  The  thorns  only  were  real.  From  the 
persecutions  of  the  young  and  old  of  a  certain 
class,  his  life  was  a  torment.  I  don't  know  what 
was  the  exact  philosophy  that  Confucius  taught, 
but  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  poor  John  in  his  perse- 
cution is  still  able  to  detect  the  conscious  hate 


JOHN   CHINAMAN.  229 

and  fear  with  which  inferiority  always  regards  the 
possibility  of  even-handed  justice,  and  which  is 
the  key-note  to  the  vulgar  clamor  about  servile 
and  degraded  races. 


FKOM  A  BACK  WINDOW. 

IKEMEMBEK  that  long  ago,  as  a  sanguine  and 
trustful  child,  I  became  possessed  of  a  highly 
colored  lithograph,  representing  a  fair  Circassian 
sitting  by  a  window.  The  price  I  paid  for  this 
work  of  art  may  have  been  extravagant),  even  in 
youth's  fluctuating  slate-pencil  currency ;  but  the 
secret  joy  I  felt  in  its  possession  knew  no  pecuni- 
ary equivalent.  It  was  not  alone  that  Nature  in 
Circassia  lavished  alike  upon  the  cheek  of  beauty 
and  the  vegetable  kingdom  that  most  expensive  of 
colors,  —  Lake ;  nor  was  it  that  the  rose  which 
bloomed  beside  the  fair  Circassian's  window  had  no 
visible  stem,  and  was  directly  grafted  upon  a  mar- 
ble balcony;  but  it  was  because  it  embodied  an 
idea.  That  idea  was  a  hinting  of  my  Fate.  I  felt 
that  somewhere  a  young  and  fair  Circassian  was 
sitting  by  a  window  looking  out  for  me.  The 
idea  of  resisting  such  an  array  of  charms  and 
color  never  occurred  to  me,  and  to  my  honor  be  it 
recorded,  that  during  the  feverish  period  of  adoles- 
cence I  never  thought  of  averting  my  destiny. 
But  as  vacation  and  holiday  came  and  went,  and 
as  my  picture  at  first  grew  blurred,  and  then  faded 


FROM   A  BACK   WINDOW.  231 

quite  away  between  the  Eastern  and  Western  con- 
tinents in  my  atlas,  so  its  charm  seemed  mysteri- 
ously to  pass  away.  When  I  became  convinced 
that  few  females,  of  Circassian  or  other  origin,  sat 
pensively  resting  their  chins  on  their  henna-tinged 
nails,  at  their  parlor  windows,  I  turned  my  atten- 
tion to  back  windows.  Although  the  fair  Circas- 
sian has  not  yet  burst  upon  me  with  open  shutters, 
some  peculiarities  not  unworthy  of  note  have 
fallen  under  my  observation.  This  knowledge  has 
not  been  gained  without  sacrifice.  I  have  made 
myself  familiar  with  back  windows  and  their 
prospects,  in  the  weak  disguise  of  seeking  lodg- 
ings, heedless  of  the  suspicious  glances  of  land- 
ladies and  their  evident  reluctance  to  show  them. 
I  have  caught  cold  by  long  exposure  to  draughts. 
I  have  become  estranged  from  friends  by  uncon- 
sciously walking  to  their  back  windows  during  a 
visit,  when  the  weekly  linen  hung  upon  the  line, 
or  where  Miss  Fanny  (ostensibly  indisposed)  actu- 
ally assisted  in  the  laundry,  and  Master  Bobby,  in 
scant  attire,  disported  himself  on  the  area  railings. 
But  I  have  thought  of  Galileo,  and  the  invariable 
experience  of  all  seekers  and  discoverers  of  truth 
has  sustained  me. 

Show  me  the  back  windows  of  a  man's  dwelling, 
and  I  will  tell  you  his  character.  The = rear  of  a 
house  only  is  sincere.  The  attitude  of  deception 
kept  up  at  the  front  windows  leaves  the  back  area 


232  FROM  A  BACK  WINDOW. 

defenceless.  The  world  enters  at  the  front  door, 
but  nature  comes  out  at  the  back  passage.  That 
glossy,  well-brushed  individual,  who  lets  himself 
in  with  a  latch-key  at  the  front  door  at  night,  is  a 
very  different  being  from  the  slipshod  wretch  who 
growls  of  mornings  for  hot  water  at  the  door  of  the 
kitchen.  The  same  with  Madame,  whose  contour 
of  figure  grows  angular,  whose  face  grows  pallid, 
whose  hair  comes  down,  and  who  looks  some  ten 
years  older  through  the  sincere  medium  of  a  back 
window.  No  wonder  that  intimate  friends  fail  to 
recognize  each  other  in  this  dos  a  dos  position. 
You  may  imagine  yourself  familiar  with  the  silver 
door-plate  and  bow- windows  of  the  mansion  where 
dwells  your  Saccharissa ;  you  may  even  fancy  you 
recognize  her  graceful  figure  between  the  lace  cur- 
tains of  the  upper  chamber  which  you  fondly 
imagine  to  be  hers  ;  but  you  shall  dwell  for  months 
in  the  rear  of  her  dwelling  and  within  whispering 
distance  of  her  bower,  and  never  know  it.  You 
shall  see  her  with  a  handkerchief  tied  round  her 
head  in  confidential  discussion  with  the  butcher, 
and  know  her  not.  You  shall  hear  her  voice  in 
shrill  expostulation  with  her  younger  brother,  and 
it  shall  awaken  no  familiar  response. 

I  am  writing  at  a  back  window.  As  I  prefer 
the  warmth  of  my  coal-fire  to  the  foggy  freshness 
of  the  afternoon  breeze  that  rattles  the  leafless 
shrubs  in  the  garden  below  me,  I  have  my  window- 


FROM   A  BACK  WINDOW.  233 

sash,  closed ;  consequently,  I  miss  much  of  the 
shrilly  altercation  that  has  been  going  on  in  the 
kitchen  of  No.  7  just  opposite.  I  have  heard  frag- 
ments of  an  entertaining  style  of  dialogue  usually 
known  as  "  chaffing,"  which  has  just  taken  place 
between  Biddy  in  No.  9  and  the  butcher  who 
brings  the  dinner.  I  have  been  pitying  the  chilled  * 
aspect  of  a  poor  canary,  put  out  to  taste  the  fresh 
air,  from  the  window  of  No.  5.  I  have  been  watch- 
ing—  and  envying,  I  fear  —  the  real  enjoyment  of 
two  children  raking  over  an  old  dust-heap  in  the 
alley,  containing  the  waste  and  debris  of  all  the 
back  yards  in  the  neighborhood.  What  a  wealth 
of  soda-water  bottles  and  old  iron  they  have  ac- 
quired !  But  I  am  waiting  for  an  even  more  fa- 
miliar prospect  from  my  back  window.  I  know 
that  later  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  evening  paper 
comes,  a  thickset,  gray-haired  man  will  appear  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  at  the  back  door  of  No.  9,  and, 
seating  himself  on  the  door-step,  begin  to  read. 
He  lives  in  a  pretentious  house,  and  I  hear  he  is  a 
rich  man.  But  there  is  such  humility  in  his  atti- 
tude, and  such  evidence  of  gratitude  at  being  al- 
lowed to  sit  outside  of  his  own  house  and  read  his 
paper  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  that  I  can  picture  his 
domestic  history  pretty  clearly.  Perhaps  he  is  fol- 
lowing some  old  habit  of  humbler  days.  Perhaps 
he  has  entered  into  an  agreement  with  his  wife  not 
to  indulge  his  disgraceful  habit  in-doors.  He  does 


234  FROM  A   BACK  WINDOW. 

not  look  like  a  man  who  could  be  coaxed  into  a 
dressing-gown.  In  front  of  his  own  palatial  resi- 
dence, I  know  him  to  be  a  quiet  and  respectable 
middle-aged  business-man,  but  it  is  from  my  back 
window  that  my  heart  wTarms  toward  him  in  his 
shirt-sleeved  simplicity.  So  I  sit  and  watch  him 
in  the  twilight  as  he  reads  gravely,  and  wonder 
sometimes,  when  he  looks  up,  squares  his  chest,  and 
folds  his  paper  thoughtfully  over  his  knee,  whether 
he  does  n't  fancy  he  hears  the  letting  down  of  bars, 
or  the  tinkling  of  bells,  as  the  cows  come  home 
and  stand  lowing  for  him  at  the  gate. 


BOONDEK. 

INEVEB  knew  how  the  subject  of  this  memoir 
came  to  attach  himself  so  closely  to  the  affec- 
tions of  my  family.  He  was  not  a  prepossessing 
dog.  He  was  not  a  dog  of  even  average  birth  and 
breeding.  His  pedigree  was  involved  in  the  deep- 
est obscurity.  He  may  have  had  brothers  and 
sisters,  but  in  the  whole  range  of  my  canine  ac- 
quaintance (a  pretty  extensive  one),  I  never  de- 
tected any  of  Boonder's  peculiarities  in  any  other 
of  his  species.  His  body  was-  long,  and  his  fore- 
legs and  hind-legs  were  very  wide  apart,  as  though 
Nature  originally  intended  to  put  an  extra  pair  be- 
tween them,  but  had  unwisely  allowed  herself  to 
be  persuaded  out  of  it.  This  peculiarity  was  an- 
noying on  cold  nights,  as  it  always  prolonged  the 
interval  of  keeping  the  door  open  for  Boonder's 
ingress  long  enough  to  allow  two  or  three  dogs  of 
a  reasonable  length  to  enter.  Boonder's  feet  were 
decided ;  his  toes  turned  out  considerably,  and  in 
repose  his  favorite  attitude  was  the  first  position 
of  dancing.  Add  to  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  ears 
that  seemed  to  belong  to  some  other  dog,  and  a 
symmetrically  pointed  nose  that  fitted  all  aper- 


236  BOONDEK. 

tures  like  a  pass-key,  and  you  have  Boonder  as  we 
knew  him. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  his  popularity  was 
mainly  owing  to  his  quiet  impudence.  His  ad- 
vent in  the  family  was  that  of  an  old  member, 
who  had  been  absent  for  a  short  time,  but  had 
returned  to  familiar  haunts  and  associations.  In 
a  Pythagorean  point  of  view  this  might  have  been 
the  case,  but  I  cannot  recall  any  deceased  member 
of  the  family  who  was  in  life  partial  to  bone- 
burying  (though  it  might  be  post  mortem  a  con- 
sistent amusement),  and  this  was  Boonder's  great 
weakness.  He  was  at  first  discovered  coiled  up 
on  a  rug  in  an  upper  chamber,  and  was  the  least 
disconcerted  of  the  entire  household.  From  that 
moment  Boonder  became  one  of  its  recognized 
members,  and  privileges,  often  denied  the  most  in- 
telligent and  valuable  of  his  species,  were  qui- 
etly taken  by  him  and  submitted  to  by  us.  Thus, 
if  he  were  found  coiled  up  in  a  clothes-basket, 
or  any  article  of  clothing  assumed  locomotion 
on  its  own  account,  we  only  said,  "  0,  it 's  Boon- 
der," with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  it  was  nothing 
worse. 

I  have  spoken  of  his  fondness  for  bone-burying. 
It  could  not  be  called  an  economical  faculty,  for  he 
invariably  forgot  the  locality  of  his  treasure,  and 
covered  the  garden  with  purposeless  holes  ;  but 
although  the  violets  and  daisies  were  not  improved 


BOONDER.  237 

by  Boonder's  gardening,  no  one  ever  thought  of 
punishing  him.  He  became  a  synonyme  for  Fate ; 
a  Boonder  to  be  grumbled  at,  to  be  accepted  phil- 
osophically,, —  but  never  to  be  averted.  But  al- 
though he  was  not  an  intelligent  dog,  nor  an  orna- 
namental  dog,  he  possessed  some  gentlemanly 
instincts.  When  he  performed  his  only  feat, — 
begging  upon  his  hind  legs  (and  looking  remarka- 
bly like  a  penguin),  —  ignorant  strangers  would 
offer  him  crackers  or  cake,  which  he  did  n't  like,  as 
a  reward  of  merit.  Boonder  always  made  a  great 
show  of  accepting  the  proffered  dainties,  and  even 
made  hypocritical  contortions  as  if  swallowing, 
but  always  deposited  the  morsel  when  he  was 
unobserved  in  the  first  convenient  receptacle,  — 
usually  the  visitor's  overshoes. 

In  matters  that  did  not  involve  courtesy,  Boon- 
der was  sincere  in  his  likes  and  dislikes.  He 
was  instinctively  opposed  to  the  railroad.  When 
the  track  was  laid  through  our  street,  Boon- 
der maintained  a  defiant  attitude  toward  every 
rail  as  it  went  down,  and  resisted  the  cars  shortly 
after  to  the  fullest  extent  of  his  lungs.  I  have 
a  vivid  recollection  of  seeing  him,  on  the  day 
of  the  trial  trip,  come  down  the  street  in  front 
of  the  car,  barking  himself  out  of  all  shape, 
and  thrown  back  several  feet  by  the  recoil  of 
each  bark.  But  Boonder  was  not  the  only  one 
who  has  resisted  innovations,  or  has  lived  to  see 


238  BOONDER. 

the  innovation  prosper  and  even  crush  —  But  I 
am  anticipating.  Boonder  had  previously  resisted 
the  gas,  but  although  he  spent  one  whole  day  in 
angry  altercation  with  the  workmen,  —  leaving 
his  bones  unburied  and  bleaching  in  the  sun, — 
somehow  the  gas  went  in.  The  Spring  Valley 
water  was  likewise  unsuccessfully  opposed,  and 
the  grading  of  an  adjoining  lot  was  for  a  long 
time  a  personal  matter  between  Boonder  and  the 
contractor. 

These  peculiarities  seemed  to  evince  some  de- 
cided character  and  embody  some  idea.  A  pro- 
longed debate  in  the  family  upon  this  topic  re- 
sulted in  an  addition  to  his  name,  —  we  called 
him  "  Boonder  the  Conservative,"  with  a  faint 
acknowledgment  of  his  fateful  power.  But,  al- 
though Boonder  had  his  own  way,  his  path  was 
not  entirely  of  roses.  Thorns  sometimes  pricked 
his  sensibilities.  When  certain  minor  chords  were 
struck  on  the  piano,  Boonder  was  always  painfully 
affected  and  howled  a  remonstrance.  If  he  were 
removed  for  company's  sake  to  the  back  yard,  at 
the  recurrence  of  the  provocation,  he  would  go  his 
whole  length  (which  was  something)  to  improvise 
a  howl  that  should  reach  the  performer.  But  we 
got  accustomed  to  Boonder,  and  as  we  were  fond 
of  music  the  playing  went  on. 

One  morning  Boonder  left  the  house  in  good 
spirits  with  his  regular  bone  in  his  mouth,  and 


BOONDER.  239 

apparently  the  usual  intention  of  burying  it.  The 
next  day  he  was  picked  up  lifeless  on  the  track,  — 
run  over  apparently  by  the  first  car  that  went  out 
of  the  depot. 


THE     END, 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


,\ 


